Babies, Blessings, and Shrines

One of the joys of living on one’s own in a foreign country is “getting lost.” That is, leaving the house and losing one’s way en rout to the destination. One is almost always due to encounter interesting, if not fascinating, people and places. So one day I got lost in Japan. I was in the park surrounding Osaka Castle and, seeing as it was a weekend, there was some sort of festival in motion. I looked at my watch, “I’ve got time,” – in English, just in case someone was listening – and started wandering aimlessly.

Because there was a festival present, there were also the requisite kiosks. So I bought some takoyaki and set out to see the sights. My wanderings took me to the paths that lead around the outskirts of the park and which lead to many out-of-the-way buildings and smaller “parkish” places. I happily strolled about, finished my takoyaki and set to getting found. I asked about, usually approaching blue-collar types such as gardeners; they are usually the most helpful. At last I was nearing my exit when a huge arch caught my eye. Well, I was “lost” so I turned aside and discovered a massive Shinto shrine. No one was in sight so I began snapping pictures with that crafty feeling that a kid gets who is doing something possibly detrimental, though he or she has not been told so. But suddenly the doors opened and a priest exited. He was followed by several people, which turned out to be a family. Then the wife appeared and she had a baby! Was it…?

The priest stopped outside the door and bowed to each family member as they filed out and I snapped a picture before he turned and looked me over quizzically. But I had no time for him; there was a baby to be seen. The family began walking toward a cluster of vehicles opposite where I entered and I hovered about on the outskirts, getting up my courage. Finally I threw aside my wayward fears and strode confidently up to the mom. I pointed at her child and asked authoritatively…“blessing, blessing?” She stared at me. My worst fears were realized. But they were all very gracious. Through a mixture of broken English and all but recognizable Japanese on my part, I ascertained that yes; this baby had just been baptized, Shinto style. She had a red kanji on her forehead, which is for girls only; boys have blue for their mark. Her mother held her up and bounced her in time to, “konnichiwa, say konnichiwa!” But the girl, barely larger than a football and semi-comatose, just let her head flop like a bobble toy and did not even un-cross her eyes. So I thanked them all and they smiled politely as the strange foreigner marched away to find an exit.