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INTERGENERATIONAL & INTERRACIAL COMMUNICATION

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INTERGENERATIONAL & IN...
Just now, my daughter came to my bedroom doorway and stated, “Mom, Kirin and I just had a discussion about how you act when some of our friends come over. Kirin says, ’You barely say hello and seem mad when Julie comes over.’”
 

Also, my daughter does not have a great opinion of one of my friends because the friend seems so unfriendly. When this friend and I are just the two of us, she is very open and sharing. We are very Japanese American 1950s-conservative about spending and at times act cheap and I'm thinking, “Japanese heritage individuals in America practiced thinking about saving pennies in every aspect of our lives because most everyone focussed on getting  ahead financially.”
 

I’m now thinking, “This is no longer my house. I want the girls to take over and I don’t want to interfere in their lives.” I remember visiting relatives who have their parents living with them. Like those elders, I’m acting like ‘wall paper’ so as to let the next generation take over. Hmmm, this is a good example of miscommunication. That’s what’s interesting about life and our American “melting pot society”.
 

I have been having a debate in my mind about another Japanese friend who acts more elderly so she can get more help. At least, that is how I read her at times. My debate is that maybe she knows better than me how to be more humble, graceful and respected as an elder? And it is also important that her sons feel value for themselves in helping her.
 

Particularly, if they are of Asian heritage and male, I’m put in the front seat of the car. Other times, I’m grandma and in the back seat. I work to not create waves of discomfort. It feels like I’m doing the right things and going with the flow. I’m not one to do a lot of talking and being expressive of what I think. Maybe, I should learn to be more expressive?
 

I think before I say much, and I’ve always been afraid of public speaking. My daughters often say, “Spit it out Mom!” Recently, I’ve had more practice being in front of audiences. I’m listening to celebrities who seemingly are not afraid to take pauses when being recorded.  And having "senior moments" is not all that bad. What helps me the most is to realize my fears are when I worry about myself and “how I look”.  I’m learning to listen and feel what the audiences want to hear.
 

It’s all practice for a “life of learning”, accepting misunderstandings and to keep trying.
 

ワオ!と言っているユーザー

LIFETIME ACHIEVMENT AWARD FROM WASHINGTON STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY

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Interviewing Mr. Nitta, from Hi... Interviewing Mr. Nitta, from Hiroshima, in the 1970s.
After 1924 Asian Exclusion Act, he couldn't come to USA. So, he went first to Peru, commandeered a fishing boat into Mexico with friends and sneaked into California's Imperial Valley, making his way to the Pacific Northwest.
It’s a thrilling honor to be nominated by the Washington State Historical Society for the award to be given May 4th at the Washington History Museum in Tacoma.
 
Working on the history of the Japanese experience in the Pacific Northwest since 1970s and facilitating the OMOIDE writing program the last 30 years are likely the basis of my receiving the award.
 
Over 50 years ago, I got a phone call from Min Masuda, professor of Psychiatry at the University of Washington, asking me, “Would you be willing to take a part time job at the UW Suzzallo Library Archives, documenting the Japanese Experience in the Pacific Northwest?” Min had collaborated with Frank Miyamoto of the Social Work department and Rich Berner, creator of the library archives, to get a grant and likely heard from my neighbor Mariko Hayashi that I spoke some Japanese. By 1970, very few of us young people--I was a Sansei (third generation Japanese)--spoke the language.
 
The offer took me by surprise. My education was in the field of nursing with math and science. I had gotten Honors at Entrance recognition for math with Lewis and Clark College, and had not once thought about history. I immediately answered, “No” and hung up. I had two preschool girls and no interest in a job outside of home.
 
I laughed about it as I explained to my husband, Sam, what had just happened. He must have thought about it. I had no idea about his interest in history. The next day or two, Sam talked me into calling Min back and accepting the job.
 
Nursing was the only way I could afford to get a college education because hospitals paid us students to work 30 hours a week as we learned. I never quit what I start, so I had become an RN, but I never liked carrying out military type “orders” by physicians. Therefore, I went on to get a Master in Psychosocial Nursing at the UW. I learned to love psychology and philosophy. 
 
Grant funding ran out, but I remained on a Min Masuda Archival committee for 20 years. Meanwhile, my girls left home and I realized we could create some of our own documentation of the Japanese Experience by writing stories. We also had no Japanese Historical Society, so I helped organize one around 1990. Starting with weekly story sharing in my kitchen in 1991, we published OMOIDE I in 1993. 
 
It took a lot of effort to demonstrate the financial responsibility of us younger generations with Japanese heritage, but the Nikkei Heritage Association was incorporated in 2003 and eventually incorporated with the Japanese Community Service/Japanese Language School in becoming the 2024 Japanese Cultural and Community Center of Washington. At age 85, I’m still part of the board of directors.
 
Today, in 2024, we have a KIP TOKUDA MEMORIAL grant to begin gathering stories for OMOIDE VII. With our unique perspective on the enduring effects of Executive Order 9066 and times of fear and uncertainty since the early 1900s, we seek stories of compassion, resilience and human connections. Please help us find and share stories to cultivate empathy, understanding and beyond - SPREADING RIPPLES OF COMPASSION & GENEROSITY!
 
 
 

ワオ!と言っているユーザー

MY FATHER - MY NEW HERO

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His Van had a 4-note horn. H... 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!

ワオ!と言っているユーザー

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