| Part 3 |
| This is a continuation of my previous month's review of selected events about two people who emigrated from Japan about 100 years ago, settled permanently in the United States, and eventually were able to become naturalized U.S. citizens. They did their best to help their three children become active parts of the larger society in which they lived. Education was seen as the way out of being marginalized members of society. Although both parents strived to be good citizens (though they couldn't become U.S. citizens because of biased laws), they mixed their cultural backgrounds with what is accepted American ways. Sometimes, that was commendable and useful. During the process, they raised their children to be productive, helpful, courteous, respectful, honest, considerate, et cetera, et cetera et cetera (as was said in "Anna and the King of Siam"). |
| However, there were some minuses that "good" and "oya koko" (respectful and obedient to one's parents) brought about. For example, the first-born son occupied a specific honorific place among the children in a family. He had to be addressed as "nisan" (older brother) and was entitled to whatever a family could afford since he would be the person who would carry on the family name, an important responsibility. Unfortunately for him, he was the subject of extra disciplinary measures carried out by my father. His eventual role was to be the family's representative. Thus, he was a treasure, and was entitled to many privileges. I was not the oldest son; neither was my younger sister. We had to endure a lot. We had to expect little. We had to respect our brother. He was entitled to a lot; we weren't. But, we accepted the situation. We learned quickly the effect of "shikata ga nai" (it can't be helped) and "gaman na sai" (bear with it, stick it out, endure). A curious combination of not being the eldest so, being in a family wanting to continue its surname, and having parents concerned about unfortunate relatives who had no children (especially a son to carry on the family name), resulted in my becoming an unwitting solution to a problem. A couple living about 40 miles from us had close family ties to my father, probably a cousin. I thought they were really old-probably in their early 40's. They had no children and wanted a son. They told their sad tale to my father and asked if they could adopt me. I was about eight years old and did not want to be changed from a Kusuda to an Uchihashi. I was more than satisfied with my parents. My mother was quiet and did not enter into the discussion, but I had a feeling that she wasn't interested in giving up her second child for any reason. However, customs and traditions being what they were, she did not object out loud. My older brother Bill (four-and-a-half years older than me) and I went by Greyhound bus to Oxnard where the couple had an ice cream shop in a town with a Main Street that was about six or seven blocks long and three or four short side streets intersecting it. What a change from Los Angeles! Both my brother and I felt lonesome and homesick right away. We were supposed to stay for a couple of weeks so I'd get used to living in that small town. What a bummer! The first afternoon was acceptable. In fact, my brother and I thought it was not too bad to have ice cream cones, sundaes, and all the soda pop we wanted. The evening meal was okay, too. We slept in a room together, which was fine because we were used to that, as long as my brother kept to his side of the bed and I on mine. We always had trouble sharing covers, but we eventually worked things out. The next morning was the beginning of strange things. Mr. U, (whom we had to call Oji-san, or Uncle) had his usual breakfast. Coffee ? that was okay. Toast - that was okay. Two eggs, sunny-side up. That was okay, too. However, the way he ate them was more than weird. He ate the egg whites first, cut apart the two soft egg yolks, used a spoon, and ate each one separately without breaking the yolk. UGH! Oji-san decreed that my brother and I had to eat our eggs the same way. Being kids, we both tried -- and we both struggled not to throw up. We found out that the other routines had to be followed their way -- washing dishes, exact lunch time, going to bed, being quiet while eating, etc. We didn't like the change. My brother pointed out how glad he was that he wasn't the one to be adopted. A couple of mornings later, I ran away after eating a terrible breakfast. That was the first and only time I ever ran away. I packed a small lunch, grabbed a sweater, and meandered about half a mile away to a river that ran parallel to Main Street. I stayed there until late that night and became cold. So I returned. Oji-san, Oba-san (aunt), and my brother were really worried. They had my brother look for me, but of course he had no idea where to look. They were glad to have me return, and Oji-san called my father to explain what happened. He said both of us should return home. So we had a nice bus ride home. The adventure was over. Later the same year, another of my father's relatives talked with my parents about their plight of not having a son. This time my mother spoke up to allow me to have a say about the matter. I did. I did not want to be an Otsuka. So, that was that! That was the first, but not the last time, that I wasn't an obedient son. Some Japanese traditions or customs may not be as acceptable asothers. Being bicultural has its advantages, but I had to make choices carefully because hasty appraisals could result in later regrets. |
| Immigration and citizenship by Paul H. Kusuda |
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