Celebrating Sue and John's Birthdays

Some love stories change the world; their story made mine. 

Today is my mom's birthday. We lost her four years ago, and some days it feels like she's still here. I can still have conversations with her, still imagine what she'd have to say to me about politics, movies, and current events.

She wasn't thrilled that I chose to be a teacher, but she grew to respect my work and the profession. That's what's hard about the conversations I have with Mom in my head. She would have evolved and changed over these last four years, so by now, on the night before her daughter goes on strike, she would support me unconditionally. She would tell me to go to bed, and to take care of the kids, and of David, but mostly, to take care of myself.

Tomorrow is my Dad's birthday. He's turning 88. In Japanese culture 88 is a beiju year, extra-special. 88 is rice age, and for my father, whose middle name, Hachiro, means eighth born son, I hope this year is particularly auspicious. I hope it means fading clarity comes into focus and confusion cuts to sharpness. But until that clarity and sharpness returns, I've started imagining conversations I would have with the Dad of ten years ago about what's happening right now.

Back when their words came through more clearly...

If my Dad's memories were still clear and his wit was still sharp, he would remind me that standing up and speaking out for what is right holds the upmost importance. He would tell me about his time in Japanese internment camp and wonder why people didn't stand up, didn't do something to help. He'd say we have to do something about the terrible things that are happening right now.

I will be walking the line tomorrow with these words from my parents on my mind. I will check in with myself more than usual. Instead of thinking shikataganai, or it can't be helped as many said about the Japanese incarceration, I will be standing up and speaking out about my large classes, and the lack of a full-time nurse, and that our library is closed and outdated because we haven't had a teacher librarian in a decade. I will insist that the hedge-fund manager who is unfathomably at the helm in our district resign, and that we find someone who can truly lead our district and serve our schools, our communities, our students.

For my mom, I will take breaks and make sure my daughter has snacks and dry clothes, and I will make sure I take care of myself too.

For my dad, I will stand up and speak up for what is right.

These two days mark the beginning of the lives of two people who made me, and living my life in the their wisdom is how I honor them.

On the 75th Anniversary of Executive Order 9066

My dad turned 86 this past January. He was 11 when FDR signed Executive Order 9066 ordering all Japanese living on the west coast inland. Today is the 75th anniversary of that Executive Order.

1936: Azusa, California.
Back row: George, Henry, Minoru, Saburo, Yoshinao, Yoshio
front row: John, James, Kagi (my grandmother), with Stephen and Hannah, Ginzo (my grandfather), and Grace. 

This is his family in 1936, before Pearl Harbor, before the older boys went off to war, before the rest of the family packed what they could carry, before they left behind their Azusa farm, before they made their way to the Pomona Assembly Center.

1942: A train stop on the way to Heart Mountain.
Dad, Uncle Jimmy, and Auntie Grace are on the right, looking out the window. 

In August of 1942, they arrived at Heart Mountain in Wyoming. My father's older sister, Grace, happened upon this photograph in a World War II commemorative calendar. That's my dad, the little arms of either my Auntie Hannah or Uncle Steve, Uncle Jimmy, and Auntie Grace looking out the train window. Dad remembers this as a long ride. Trains carrying goods for the war took priority on the rails, so their train made many stops, waiting for other trains to pass. My dad was only supposed to pack necessities, but he decided to take his marbles with him. I wonder if those glass spheres survived the journey or if they were lost and rolled away.

1942: Heart Mountain, Wyoming.
back row: Hannah, Yoshio, Yurikichi Ikehara (cousin), James
front row: Stephen, Ginzo, Kagi, John (hiding), Grace.

This is a family shot taken at Heart Mountain. The family is older and smaller. Yoshinau, Sab, Min, Henry, and George were all in the service. James got permission to attend the University of Illinois. As you can see, my grandmother is in a wheelchair. She had MS and, as you can imagine, the camps were not ADA compliant. The winter was particularly hard on her with lows below zero on many days. They requested to relocate to a camp at a warmer location. The authorities approved the move, but said the family was responsible for transportation and the costs incurred. So, Uncle George took a leave from the army, acquired a truck, and moved the family to Gila Rivers, Arizona.

1943: Gila Rivers, Arizona.
Yoshio, John, Hannah, Kagi, Ginzo, Stephen, Grace. 

While the family was incarcerated, the Department of Agriculture confiscated and sold the family's farm equipment. Their trucks were left behind because the family had sealed the tires in a basement. Uncle Sab and Uncle Henry took leave and went to the farm to drive the trucks to a friend in Colorado, but they were stopped by local police. Although they were released a couple of days later, they weren't able to deliver the trucks. So, Yoshinao asked for a leave to settle this business and visit the family at Gila Rivers. There, he was reunited with an old girlfriend. They married a year later. That is one silver lining Uncle Yosh talked about from this era. 

The caption on the Online Archive of California reads:
"Mr. G. Nakada of Azusa, California states he has had no difficulty
selling his products. He is the father of 11 children,
7 of them serving in the U.S. Army." photo by H. Iwasaki.  

photo by H. Iwasaki.
Dad is in the hat and striped shirt.

photo by H. Iwasaki.
Dad rarely smiled for the camera, but here you see his charming grin. 

In 1945, the family returned to their farm in Azusa. These photographs, part of the UC Berkeley Bancroft Library, show how well this Japanese American family adjusted once they were back home. My dad, however, doesn't really remember it that way. He got into fights whenever someone called him a Jap, and he fought quite a bit.

There is much being written right now about FDR's Executive Order 9066 and comparing these injustices to our country's current shifting immigration policy. In the Japanese American community we like to say, "Never again." This is just one family's story, and I hope we will do all we can to hold up the promise of "Never again."

52 Poems: Week 46 Lawson Fusau Inada

Little moments with family over the past few days, and this poem by a former Oregon Poet Laureate.  Happy Thanksgiving.

Grandmother
By Lawson Fusau Inada
(for Grandmothers Miju Inada and Yoshiko Saito)

Except for the fact that Grandmother taught me
chopsticks and Japanese before forks and English,
my relationship with Her wasn't all that much.

As a matter of fact, Grandmother, with Her old-
fashioned ways, was actually somewhat of an extra-
vagant source of confusion and distraction.

For example, just to waste time on a rainy day
in a boring barrack room in our ordinary
concentration camp in Arkansas, She'd say:

"The Great God Thunder is very powerful.
Listen to Him. When He storms, be careful.
Or He will send Lightning to take your navel!"

Or, on just another quiet night in Colorado,
on the way to the shower house, She may pause
in the warm desert sand to simply say:

"Ah, the Full Moon! Look closely, Grandson.
It's the same Moon, and the same Story.
'Two Rabbits with Mallets Pounding Rice.'"

Time passes. Grandmother passes. I've learned
the facts since. Still, in some storms I feel
a twitch, and in the still of certain nights,

with the right chopsticks, I can eat with
the Rabbits who have scattered all the Rice.