MY FATHER - MY NEW HERO
Mar
10
His Van had a 4-note horn. He played a tune as drove into his Japanese farmer/customer's driveways.
It was 10pm. Dad had just come home from his grocery delivery route and was having a late dinner. I sat at the kitchen table to talk. I told him about the ballroom dance lessons that were being started at the Japanese Community Center that next week for us teenagers. Dancing and going to movies was frowned upon by Ontario Baptist Church where we were members. I asked him anyway, “Can I go take the lessons?”
Dad answered, “NO!” We had some discussion; but cutting it short, he headed down to the cellar to gather Japanese canned food items to replace the empty shelves in his delivery van.
Following him out the kitchen door, I shouted into the cellar stairway, “I hate you!”.
Today, I choose this 1950’s Dad story to pass on to future generations; how I too listened to society’s values. Even some of the Japanese community made fun of Dad because he didn’t smoke, didn’t work on Sundays to get ahead and faithfully tithed to his church when he was so poor. The larger caucasian community was making life difficult for Japanese with prejudice and name calling.
Earlier in 1937, there were less than 100 Japanese in that Eastern Oregon area. Dad was one of the few Nisei who spoke fluent English when our family “started over” with row-crop farming in that Eastern Oregon/Western Idaho community along the Snake River. This was after losing their dairy business here in Western Washington because of discrimination.
With WWII Executive Order 9066, we too were considered for incarceration - 400 miles inland from the West Coast. Mayor Elmo Smith of Ontario, Oregon, stood up for us and said, “If the government needs to move those with Japanese heritage for USA security, they have to have a place to go and are welcome to Ontario.” People like my Dad had proven our loyalty. Other small towns in the area continued to have ‘NO JAP” signs all over.
Aunt Ethel remembered Dad helping build and teaching classes at the Japanese Community Center in Ontario. I watched him have coffee with those who called him “JAP” and become friends. We were invited to dinners with caucasian neighbors all my growing up years. He worked at integration.
My maternal grandpa helped build Buddhist Churches, here in Seattle area and later the Ontario Buddhist Church, so Buddhist and Japanese traditions were a strong part of our family activities. Dad arranged all the Family/Buddhist services and legal matters when Grandpa’s younger brother died in a car accident in 1947.
moving back to Seattle area in 1964, Dad rarely missed Sunday morning/night church services, Wednesday prayer meetings and singing in the choir for himself. He changed churches several times, to be with more fundamental Caucasian parishioners. But he never, ONCE, criticized me for no longer going to church. He exemplified religious freedom.
Even when the Seattle Mariners were doing poorly, he took the bus to the old King Dome regularly. He was loyal.
I still pray as I learned growing up, but my definition of "God" has added dimensions as I live life and keep learning.
Thanks DAD for adjusted memories and I know you appreciated being American and the freedom to worship and develop relationships you enjoyed!
