I Am the Second Son, but I Inherited the Family House. A Japanese Inheritance Story.

I watched a talk on a TV program.

It was a talk between a writer and an actor. The actor was born as the eldest son of a family with a business passed down for generations. He was the one who was supposed to take over the family.

In the program, a passage from a book by the writer was read out.

“A man who lives his whole life pushed around by a word like eldest son is a pitiful one.”

Hearing it, the actor laughed and said this.

“I wondered why he was saying that to me.”

When I heard those words, something stirred a little, deep in my chest.

I am the second son. But I was treated the same as an eldest son.

I am the second of two brothers.

My older brother simply went off and married into the family of his wife. In Japan, this means the husband takes the family name of his wife and becomes part of her family.

From that moment, I was the one who would take over the family.

On paper I was the second son, but I was treated as the eldest. The house, caring for my parent, and dealing with the neighbors. All of it fell on my shoulders.

Ours was a house without a father. In practice, I was the head of the household. You could even call me the head of the family. I was the second son, but I was the eldest son.

I wanted to leave this town. Maybe.

To be honest, when I was young, I may have wanted to leave this town.

Just as my brother left, maybe I also had the choice to live somewhere else.

But I could not leave.

I did feel tied down by my parent. Things were already moving forward on the assumption that “of course we will live together.” No one decided it. No one ever said clearly, “You take over the family.”

It was just the air around me.

My brother had married out, and there was no father. I was the only man left.

“You have no choice but to look after the house.” That was the air.

I do not even remember anymore if I tried to fight it. Maybe I did not have the strength to fight. Or maybe, somewhere inside, I knew it would be no use.

Some people carry the weight of an eldest son without being called one

That is probably why the words of that actor hit me so hard: “I wondered why he was saying that to me.”

People get pushed around by the word eldest son. But there are also people who are not the eldest son on paper, yet are made to carry the role of one in practice.

I was one of them.

“You are the second son, so live freely.” No one ever said that to me.

Someone I know runs a traditional Japanese inn known for its cooking. I heard that there, the eldest son took over the family business just as expected.

I think he is admirable. At the same time, I think it must be hard for him. I know that calling him “pitiful” would be none of my business.

Still, even from the outside, I can imagine that weight.

And now, I almost say the same thing to my sons

This is the real point.

I have two sons.

Sometimes, questions like these come up in my head.

“What will happen to this house?”

“What will happen to the grave?”

I want to ask my sons. I do not want to ask. I start to ask, and then I keep it inside.

I myself took over the family even though I was the second son. What was good about that? Honestly, I do not really know.

I did feel tied down. Sometimes I also thought that maybe I wanted to leave.

So I want to tell my sons this.

“You two, do as you like.”

The house, the grave, the town, your parents. You can do as you like with all of it. You do not have to carry it. You do not have to take it over. You can leave.

That is what I want to say.

Did I say it? I am no longer sure.

But did I really tell my sons “do as you like”? Even I am no longer sure.

I feel like I said it. I also feel like I did not.

Maybe I only hinted at it. Maybe I never said it clearly.

It is a strange thing. I thought so strongly that I did not want to be tied down. Yet I have not been able to tell my own sons clearly, “Be free.”

Maybe, somewhere in my heart, I am thinking this.

“If someone takes over, this house and this town will not disappear.”

Something like that.

The more a person has carried, the less he should want the next generation to carry. And yet.

A person who has carried a weight should not want the next generation to carry it. You would think so. But people are not that simple.

We start to want to pass on what we have carried to the next generation. Or to just hand it off and be done with it.

To notice that and hold it in is probably one of the jobs of a parent.

“A man pushed around by the word eldest son is a pitiful one.”

When I heard that, I think the stir I felt had two parts.

One was the memory of carrying the weight of an eldest son, even though I am the second son.

The other was the shock of noticing that I am starting to put the same weight on my own sons.

This is not a story to talk about lightly from the outside. But that does not mean the people on the inside can just stay silent.

Maybe I should tell my sons once more, clearly.

“You two, do as you like.” Just that.

And then, I will simply accept the part of me that still secretly wishes the house and the town will remain.

Maybe that is what I can do now, as the second son who took over the family.