Red Berries, White Clouds, Blue Sky (18 page)
Read Red Berries, White Clouds, Blue Sky Online
Authors: Sandra Dallas
I know you are angry at America. I am, too, sometimes. But it is our country, and we have to do what is best for it and for our family. That’s why I joined the army. I had to fight for America. I thought Pop would be proud of me for doing that, but it didn’t work
.
One day the war will be over, and Pop will have to find work. What will happen to him with his attitude? Who would give him a job? Would Mr. Lawrence hire someone so angry? What would happen to Mom and you and Hiro?
I think you know it is the Japanese way not to look back with anger but to look ahead with hope. Mom has tried to help Pop. Hiro is too young. I upset Pop. So you see, Tomi, it is up to you
.
Your brother
Roy
Tomi stared at the letter for a long time. Then she looked up at Mom. “That last part about anger and hope … you told him to write to me, didn’t you?”
Mom nodded. “Sometimes I write to him on my own. You won’t tell Pop, will you? I am so worried about him.”
“And me?” Tomi wondered.
“And you, too,” Mom admitted. “I worry about you.”
“Am I as unhappy as Pop?” Tomi asked.
Mom shook her head. “‘No, but I am afraid you will be one day. You are so young. I did not want you to spoil your life with hatred.”
Tomi handed the letter to Mom, who read it to herself, then folded it and put it back inside the envelope, telling Tomi to keep it in a safe place. They wouldn’t want Pop to read it.
“What do I do, Mom?” Tomi asked. “I can’t change Pop.”
“Maybe you can. I hope you will think of a way.”
“COME
on, Pop. Come build a snowman with Hiro and me,” Tomi pleaded.
Pop sat in his chair in the apartment, a blanket around his shoulders. “Bah! I don’t like this snow. It makes me ache all over. We never had snow in California. Why would I go outside and make a man out of snow?” He pulled the blanket closer.
“It’s fun,” Hiro told him. “And after a while, you won’t feel the cold.”
Pop waved them away, and Tomi and Hiro went outdoors by themselves.
“He isn’t any fun anymore, is he, Tomi?” Hiro asked. “He never jokes or plays with us. Remember when it was hot outside on the farm in California? Pop would turn on
the hose and let us run through the water to cool off?”
“We wouldn’t want to run through it today,” Tomi told him.
“I like the cold. After we build the snowman, Wilson and I are going ice skating.” The fire hydrant had been opened to flood the ball field, turning it into a skating rink. Last year, before he left for the army, Roy had made ice skates for the two boys. He made them out of pieces of metal, with straps they could use to tie the skates to their shoes. Hiro added, “I like Tallgrass. We couldn’t go ice skating in California. This is a good place.”
Tomi studied her brother for a moment. Tallgrass was a real home for Hiro and Wilson. They had a baseball field and an ice rink. They explored the prairie around Tallgrass for snakeskins and arrowheads. And they made kites to fly in the brisk Colorado wind. The children had adjusted to the barracks and harsh land and to the change of seasons. It was the older people such as Pop who still resented the camp.
Tomi wished she could find a way to help Pop. Mom and Roy were counting on her, but nothing had worked. She’d tried to get Pop to play with Hiro and her, but Pop wouldn’t do it. She’d invited him to school programs and
plays and concerts, but he wouldn’t go. He sat in the apartment all day, grumbling. Tomi had just about given up.
Wilson joined them, and Tomi helped the two boys make two snowballs for the snowman. Then she stacked one on top of the other. “Let’s make him a soldier,” Hiro suggested. “Come on. I bet Helen would make a cap for him. And we can find a piece of wood for his gun.”
The two boys saluted the snowman, and Hiro said, “Whatcha know, Joe?” Then they took off, leaving Tomi alone.
Mom was teaching her quilt class, and Tomi didn’t want to return to the apartment. Pop was there, and she didn’t care to listen to him complain. She thought she might go to the library, but just then, Mrs. Glessner came up to her. Since it was the weekend, Tomi was surprised to see her teacher in the camp.
“The classroom is such a mess. It needs to be cleaned up. Saturday seems like a good day for it,” said Mrs. Glessner.
“I can help you,” Tomi said.
“I would be grateful for that,” her teacher replied. The two walked together to the school building and went into the classroom. “Let’s take down the books and dust the
shelves first. Then we can put the books back in order. I never seem to find the book I’m looking for,” Mrs. Glessner said. She stood on a chair and handed down the books to Tomi. Then she found a rag and wiped the dust from the shelves. “I don’t know why I do this. The dust just keeps coming back.”
When the shelves were clean, Mrs. Glessner stood on the chair again, and Tomi handed her the books. Mrs. Glessner stopped and studied one of them. “So that’s where this book was hiding. It’s about citizenship. I promised to loan it to my friend who teaches at the Ellis school. I think you understand what citizenship is, Tomi. It’s about being loyal and working for your country, like your brother’s doing by serving in the army.” Mrs. Glessner paused. “And you. I know you have had a difficult time here, but you’re a good citizen.”
“I was when I lived in California. I was a Girl Scout. We flew the flag, and I said the Pledge of Allegiance every day. But I don’t know how to be one here. I live in a camp. There’s nothing I can do.”
Mrs. Glessner got down from the chair and set the book on the desk. “Of course there is, and you’re doing it. You’re working for the war effort, collecting newspapers
and scrap iron. You sold raffle tickets to raise money for the 442nd. You’re loyal and patriotic, too.” She set the book on her desk and dusted off her hands. “The children in my friend’s class are writing essays on why they’re Americans. All the ninth graders in Colorado have been asked to write them. There’s a contest to pick the best one, with a one-hundred dollar prize for the best essay. The winner goes to Denver to receive it from the governor.”
Tomi thought about it. Then she asked, “If I’m so loyal and patriotic, why can’t I write an essay? Why can’t all the kids in my class write them?”
Mrs. Glessner put the dust rag down. “Why indeed? Why didn’t I think of that? Of course you must write an essay, and so should everyone in your class. After all, you’re ninth-grade Colorado school children.” She laughed. “Even if you don’t want to be.”
“What are we supposed to write about?” Tomi asked.
“Whatever you like. The subject is ‘Why I Am an American,’ but that could include almost anything. Think it over. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. You have a week to turn it in.” She picked up the citizenship book and looked at it. “I’ll give this to my friend. Your class won’t need it. With the paper and scrap metal drives, the
Fourth of July celebration and the raffle ticket sales, you already know what citizenship is all about.”
Tomi thought about the essay on the way back to her apartment, and all that evening. She was an American because she’d been born in America. But she knew there was more to it. Being an American wasn’t just an accident. You
chose
to be a good American. Maybe she would write about that.
ON MONDAY
, Mrs. Glessner told the class about the essay contest. “This is not an assignment. You can skip it if you want to. But being an American is something I want you to think about,” Mrs. Glessner continued. “What does it mean?”
“Being able to listen to a radio and not being cooped up in a relocation camp,” one boy blurted out.
Mrs. Glessner considered what he said. Then she asked, “Does that mean that none of you are Americans?”
“No,” several students answered.
“Then you can be an American and still be an internee?” she asked.
“I think it means you can be one even if you aren’t treated very well,” Ruth said.
Tomi grinned at her. Ruth was smart—smart enough to write a prize-winning essay. “Even if you don’t agree with what your country does, it’s still your country,” Tomi added.
“I’m an American because my brother’s in the army,” a boy said.
“I’m an American because I salute the flag and say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning,” a girl added.
“I like to play baseball. Does that make me an American?” another boy asked.
His friend leaned over and poked him in the ribs. “It makes you a crummy second baseman.”
That evening, Tomi asked Pop, “Why did you come to America?”
Pop frowned at her. “Why do you ask such a question?”
Tomi shrugged. “I just wondered. If you’re so unhappy living in America, why did you come here in the first place?”
When Pop didn’t answer, Mom looked up from her sewing and said, “Tell her, Sam.”
Pop thought that over, and finally he nodded. “All right. You know I wasn’t always unhappy with this country, Tomi. I came here because I thought I would have opportunities I didn’t have in Japan. There, my father was a poor man, and so was my
jiji
, my grandfather. They worked all day on a farm for a big landowner. They never had a chance to have their own farm. If I stayed, I would always be a poor man, too. I didn’t want to work for someone else all day and bow to him and thank him for the little bit he paid me. I wanted something better.”
