the next two weeks hoping time would go a little faster. The days finally passed. Hideo came into the store around closing time. They walked around Hastings Street. It was a busy summer day and all the shops and restaurants were open. A photographer took a picture of them walking side by side and Hideo bought it. They stopped for a soda on Hastings Street. It was July 12, 1941: their first date.
It is clear in every picture of the two of them why my grandma was drawn to my grandpa: he simply adored her. He put her on apedestal the height of Mount Fuji. He absolutely beamed walking down the street with her.
Hideo’s easy smile did not betray Vancouver’s political climate. The deep-seated racism that led to the 1907 riots had not dissipated. On the contrary; as Japanese fishermen continued to prosper, the resentment only grew. The perpetrators of hate had altered their tactics. The pen was proving mightier than the sword.
The news in the paper was all bad—but it seemed far away from Mitsue and her life. She was just working and waiting for Hideo to visit. She longed for their walks. When he was in town, he’d take the train home with her to Celtic—much to the dismay of Tak, Minoru, Motoharu, and Ichiro.
Hideo had been born in Canada, but his parents sent him to Japan in 1920, when he was six. He grew up on the family farm in Kumamoto prefecture. He knew his grandparents better than his parents. He didn’t get to know his father until he came back to Canada when he was seventeen. His father was always working in the lumber mill. His mother would travel to Japan every other year to see how her son was progressing.
Hideo always retained his thick Japanese accent. Mitsue would come to feel that it held him back in life. He had a sharp intellect-and read voraciously—history, geography, politics, and ecology, and he had a particular fascination with health. He read health and diet books well before they were popular. Every morning, he ate one carrot, two tomatoes, and a bowl of rice. The carrot, he thought, would keep him away from the doctors. (When my grandpa was ninety-two, I took him to his family physician in Medicine Hat for treatment for gout. The doctor sat down and just stared at him. He was in awe. He had not seen his ninety-two-year-old patient in over a decade. He turned to me and cautioned: “Kid, with genes like this, you’d better be stashing money away somewhere.”)
Mitsue’s father took an immediate liking to Hideo. He appreciated his intelligence. They both loved to read and they wouldtalk about Japanese history, trading books back and forth. This was important to Mitsue. She needed her parents’ blessing, especially her father’s, in order to marry.
For the next few months Hideo would escort Mitsue home every day that he was not working. They got to know each other on trains, on walks through parks, and in her parent’s Celtic living room.
Government repression crept into their third date, during the spring of 1941. The government ordered all Canadians of Japanese descent to obtain registration cards. It was the beginning of the end for Japanese Canadians in British Columbia. Hideo did not want to comply, but failure to do so would have resulted in jail time. He and Mitsue went to the RCMP office to register together.
The registration card included a photo, an identification number, and a fingerprint. Mitsue hated getting her fingerprints taken. She felt like a criminal. But she smiled for the camera so as not to be rude. Mitsue’s card was white because she had been born in Canada; her parents’ cards were pink because they had been issued Canadian citizenship. Those who were not Canadian citizens got yellow cards.
In November, Hideo worked up the nerve to speak to Yosuke. They met at the family home while Mitsue was at work. Hideo told Yosuke that he loved Mitsue and that he wanted her family’s blessing and her hand in marriage. He pledged to Yosuke that he would always provide for
It is clear in every picture of the two of them why my grandma was drawn to my grandpa: he simply adored her. He put her on apedestal the height of Mount Fuji. He absolutely beamed walking down the street with her.
Hideo’s easy smile did not betray Vancouver’s political climate. The deep-seated racism that led to the 1907 riots had not dissipated. On the contrary; as Japanese fishermen continued to prosper, the resentment only grew. The perpetrators of hate had altered their tactics. The pen was proving mightier than the sword.
The news in the paper was all bad—but it seemed far away from Mitsue and her life. She was just working and waiting for Hideo to visit. She longed for their walks. When he was in town, he’d take the train home with her to Celtic—much to the dismay of Tak, Minoru, Motoharu, and Ichiro.
Hideo had been born in Canada, but his parents sent him to Japan in 1920, when he was six. He grew up on the family farm in Kumamoto prefecture. He knew his grandparents better than his parents. He didn’t get to know his father until he came back to Canada when he was seventeen. His father was always working in the lumber mill. His mother would travel to Japan every other year to see how her son was progressing.
Hideo always retained his thick Japanese accent. Mitsue would come to feel that it held him back in life. He had a sharp intellect-and read voraciously—history, geography, politics, and ecology, and he had a particular fascination with health. He read health and diet books well before they were popular. Every morning, he ate one carrot, two tomatoes, and a bowl of rice. The carrot, he thought, would keep him away from the doctors. (When my grandpa was ninety-two, I took him to his family physician in Medicine Hat for treatment for gout. The doctor sat down and just stared at him. He was in awe. He had not seen his ninety-two-year-old patient in over a decade. He turned to me and cautioned: “Kid, with genes like this, you’d better be stashing money away somewhere.”)
Mitsue’s father took an immediate liking to Hideo. He appreciated his intelligence. They both loved to read and they wouldtalk about Japanese history, trading books back and forth. This was important to Mitsue. She needed her parents’ blessing, especially her father’s, in order to marry.
For the next few months Hideo would escort Mitsue home every day that he was not working. They got to know each other on trains, on walks through parks, and in her parent’s Celtic living room.
Government repression crept into their third date, during the spring of 1941. The government ordered all Canadians of Japanese descent to obtain registration cards. It was the beginning of the end for Japanese Canadians in British Columbia. Hideo did not want to comply, but failure to do so would have resulted in jail time. He and Mitsue went to the RCMP office to register together.
The registration card included a photo, an identification number, and a fingerprint. Mitsue hated getting her fingerprints taken. She felt like a criminal. But she smiled for the camera so as not to be rude. Mitsue’s card was white because she had been born in Canada; her parents’ cards were pink because they had been issued Canadian citizenship. Those who were not Canadian citizens got yellow cards.
In November, Hideo worked up the nerve to speak to Yosuke. They met at the family home while Mitsue was at work. Hideo told Yosuke that he loved Mitsue and that he wanted her family’s blessing and her hand in marriage. He pledged to Yosuke that he would always provide for
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