Ever since I could remember, a large, colorful tapestry of the Great Torii of Miyajima was displayed prominently in the living room of my Nisei parents’ house. Visitors couldn’t help but notice it when they entered our home in Honolulu. As a kid, though, I never thought much about that …
Author’s note: My late Nisei father did indeed have a poker gang of his best friends who would meet monthly, always on a Saturday night, for decades, but this fictional short story—“The Poker Table”—is only loosely based on them.
Decades ago, when I was studying for my degree in journalism, I had an extremely tough professor. He was a gruff, cynical curmudgeon who constantly berated us for failing to scrutinize any statements made by politicians, government officials, and others in power. “When interviewing them,” he advised, “always, always, ALWAYS …
Years ago, a management headhunter called me about a job opening at a small but prestigious journal. I was excited about the prospect of working for that organization until I heard the exact position: publisher. In my career as a writer and editor, the highest managerial job I had had …
Author’s note: After my mother had passed and my brothers and I were cleaning out her house, I was overcome with such intense grief—unrelenting waves upon waves of sadness compounded by a lacerating guilt for all the things I should have told her while she was still alive. To deal …
Like many Sansei, I heard the admonishment “mottainai” countless times in my childhood. The Japanese word, which basically means, “too good to waste,” was the mantra of frugality in our household. Whenever I was about to throw something away that might potentially be of future use, my parents would scold, …
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