Big Bang Boom! And, Samurai-On-Samurai

Hau’oli Makahiki Hou, Hip Hapa Homeez! Happy New Year or, as the Japanese say, Omedetto Gozaimasu (literally meaning ‘congratulations’ and also used for birthdays and other special occasions).

In celebration of evolving to 2010, let’s start with a big bang boom by featuring Kikue Mugen as our weekly Hip Hapa Homee. Now, I thought I’d heard every kind of mixed culture/ethnic/race story until Kikue and I friended each other on Facebook. Because of her cool illustrations and her hip writing style, I just assumed she was a teenager living in Japan. Turns out, Kikue’s mother was a WWII bride like mine, but her mother came from Italy and her Japanese American soldier father from Hawai’i.

Although she was born and raised in Hawai’i, Kikue has always felt strong ties to her Japanese heritage and is a samurai expert. As much as I consider myself a peacenik, I can’t help but be fascinated with Japan’s feudal period. Anticipating the new NHK taiga drama series for this year, I’m excited to see what will top last year’s Tenchijin starring mega-modern Japanese boys as old school samurai.

That’s Kikue in a photo embraced by one of her own illustrations. Easy, ladies, he's only into men.

And, here are links to her sites:

http://samurai-on-samurai.com

http://samurai-on-samurai.com/gojou-hajime

http://kikue-mugen.com

http://alohaworld.com

http://shaka.alohaworld.com/

Q: Was your father a member of the 442^nd (the all-Nissei, 2^nd generation Japanese American) Army unit--the most highly decorated of WWII?

A: Dad sure was one of the brave men who participated in WWII, 442nd Headquarters, Anti-Tank Company, Service Company, Cannon Company.

Q: Does he ever talk about those experiences?

A: He didn't say much about the war when I was living at home. Whenever he was asked about it, he'd often joke and tell us that he played a lot of music during that time. Since dad was a musician, he played the sax. We took his word for it, not wanting to press him to talk about something that might bring back harsh memories. However, when I left home I did a lot of Christian ministry/missionary work overseas. I did intense work in Burma with national people known as the Karen, and spent most of my time with the Karen Army. It was then that I saw and participated in war, and had many wartime memories that turned into issues when I returned to the U.S.A. My dad then opened up to tell me of some similar things he had gone through during his service as a 442nd soldier.

The unfamiliar events that he shared with me regarding his being in the 442nd were the emotions which he had to deal with early on, actually before he was recruited. He was working at Pearl Harbor just before the Japanese zeros flew in for the attack. He was doing carpentry there at the time. He was not at Pearl Harbor on that specific day of the bombing, but was on School Street in Kalihi, near Lanakila School, when he noticed the zeros flying overhead. Later, he described the black smoke billowing from the direction of the harbor. He told me that no one really understood what was going on until the news broke on the radio exclaiming that it wasn't a drill, that it was the real thing.

When he tried to enter Pearl Harbor to fetch his tools later, he was refused by the base personnel. He and other men were lined up and taken to the entry of the base and it turned into a roughhousing sort of event. Dad and the other men he was with were pushed and shoved, and hit and kicked when some fell on the ground. He told me that they still really didn't understand why they were being mistreated.

I can't imagine how horrible that must have felt. There he was, without a job and his tools were somewhere on the base.

Q: What did your mother's family think of her marrying a Japanese American man; what did his parents think about him marrying a European?

A: My mother's involvement in the war was quite interesting as well, for she literally fought against the Germans as an Italian guerrilla. I won't go into details here about her involvement, but I will say that she had lost her citizenship with Yugoslavia because of it. She was banned from that country with her picture on a 'wanted' poster in a Yugoslavian museum many years later. Her belief in freedom made her take up arms and participate in guerrilla warfare on the side of the Italians. To make a long story short, the war was incredibly 'hot' when she met my dad and, through it, they fell in love. When the war ended, they were married at the Leaning Tower of Pisa. So, as you can guess, mom had no problems trying to explain why she had an American Japanese boyfriend.

On the other hand, when dad brought my mom home to Hawai’i to meet his mom, I guess one could say that there was a different type of battle to be fought. Grandmother was of samurai descent with her roots being from Chiba, Japan. Dad certainly didn't have it easy convincing my grandmother that he had done the right thing by marrying a European while at war in Italy. Life was difficult back then for the newlyweds.

Q: Besides knowing the history, what Japanese cultural nuances do you embrace?

A: I have an alcove in my home with three wooden omamori (prayer/good luck charms) hanging there now for the Shinsengumi, Saito Hajime and Fujita Goro. I am in the process of remodeling my home to be more Japanese. I've recently spent a small fortune for eco-friendly bamboo flooring, which incidentally is now acclimating in the sunroom before being installed. I am having a grand time replacing my western furniture with Asian furniture. I've already traded my luxury bed that was complete with space-age foam mattress for a very humble futon, years ago. I go to all the Japanese festivals there are in Atlanta, and I have been going out to California every year for Obon in the summer. This past summer, I made it up to Manzanar (Japanese internment camp) to sit quietly and contemplate. At home, my daughter and I never eat with forks, but we use hashi (chopsticks) instead. All our dinnerware is Japanese and the meals are served that way as well. I live and practice as my father raised me…something we call wabi sabi (asymmetrical and natural).

Q: How did you come to be such a samurai-phile, if there’s such a term?

A: I do love Japan! I love the samurai, especially the Shinsengumi and Byakkotai, the young boys who committed suicide during the last part of the Boshin War.

I think I've studied the Shinsengumi throughout and have had interest in them since I was a child when my granduncle told me stories of their achievement--how they weren't samurai, but because they believed that they were they accomplished an almost impossible feat. For all my life, their example allowed me to draw upon to accomplish many impossible(s) in my life. This is why I've dedicated the website to them. Samurai-on-Samurai was an old term the samurai had during matches between one another.

My father is a low-ranking samurai from the Chiba village near Edo (Tokyo, today). Fishermen by trade, they were also good merchants. But after the Boshin War, my ancestors hit difficult times when Japan reorganized their whole, entire way of governing society. My great great-grandparents made the trek across the Pacific to Hilo Hawai’i to work the plantations. Well, actually, on my obasan's (grandmother’s) side. My ojisan (grandfather) came over later from Tokyo as a merchant and then married my grandmom who was born in Hawai’i. She was only twelve years old at the time! My dad was born in Honolulu and grew up there.

I've never felt disconnected from my ancestors. Being raised in Hawai’i, my family kept many of the Japanese traditions. I was made to go to Japanese school, though at the time I didn't pay attention, but some of it rubbed in. I went to all the Japanese festivities and catered to my visiting relatives from Japan. However, when I moved from Hawai’i to the mainland, I lost touch with everything Japanese. I was so homesick, not necessarily for Hawai’i, but for Japan. Thank heavens I was able to visit there a few times during the course of my adult life! I still miss Japan as though I had lived my whole life there.

Q: What interested you in writing about gay samurai?

A: My deciding to write male/male erotica came about for various reasons and it would take me quite awhile to explain. I will tell you that I enjoy writing Japanese historical stories because it does give me a chance to really dig into the traditions and customs I so long to live a part of. When I write, I do have a sense of exploration and experience Japan thusly. It is fulfilling for me and I hope the stories I write will peak people's interest in Japan as well.

The film Taboo (Gohatto) was sort of a low-key homosexual story that I thought rather interesting. They made (gay samurai) seem so taboo in the film when, in fact, male on male relationships were very common during the samurai era.

Here is some information about that which is quite accurate:

http://www.gay-art-history.org/gay-history/gay-customs/japan-samurai-male-love/japan-samurai-homosexual-shudo.html

Q: What did you think of the Hollywood films, The Last Samurai and Memoirs of a Geisha?

A: Both movies were entertaining as movies go. However, I have two close friends who are both very studied Japan scholars, who help me along with my historical fiction writing in Japanese history and culture. I think that a lot of their knowledge about Japanese history has rubbed off on me to be able to see how unauthentic both movies were. But then again, besides all the western glamour added in order to sell tickets, I still enjoyed them.

Q: Any thoughts about the parade for the 47 Ronin (masterless samurai) held in Japan?

A: I thought it very interesting that they have a modern day parade event.

What makes the 47 Ronin and Shinsengumi so interesting is the Shinsengumi modeled themselves after the 47 Ronin. If I had to compare both narratives, hands down the Shinsengumi has more appeal because they had so many dimensions because the group was so much more mixed (socially).

I am very, very fortunate to know two very good Japanese history scholars who make it a point to study the Boshin War and also the Shinsengumi. I get a lot of first time information from them as they study and translate raw documents about the Boshin War. There are bits and pieces of the Shinsengumi that pops up--great information that is not yet released that I am so privileged to peek at. As a matter of fact, on my site on AlohaWorld.com, we host a good site called Shinsengumi Head Quarters:

http://shinsengumihq.com/

I think I've seen all the Shinsengumi movies there are in Japan, and have a good lot of them, too.

It has been said by Armen, one of the Japan historical scholars I know, that the 47 Ronin incident and that of what people assume about what happened just isn't true, but is known by them as a "feudal drive-by".

Wow! Domo arrigato gozaimasu, Kikue, for all the interesting information about your life, your art and your writing. It already looks like 2010 will be an explosive year, but, hopefully, in a positive way. Certainly, it’s wished that all wars end and that what we learn from history--such as the feuds among Japan's samurai clans--will encourage us to lay down arms for peace.

In any case, everyone please remember to join our Hip Hapa Homeez group and become a fan of Watermelon Sushi on Facebook. And, don’t forget to check out our film and t-shirts.

Here’s to a new year filled with peace for all Hip Hapa Homeez everywhere!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Peace Loving Brides Of War

Shortly after World War II, American GI’s married the girlfriends they’d met in the countries where they were sent to fight. A lot of those wives came from the losing side of the war—most notably Germany and Japan--although two of my best friends in high school had mothers from Austria and France.

The term “war bride” was used to describe those ladies who essentially married men who invaded their nations. Personally, I like to say that my Japanese mother never married a war so why is she labeled as the wife of one?

While the difficulties of growing up biracial are significant, having a foreign parent is no piece of cake either. As the white American children at our school carried tin lunch boxes adorned with popular cartoon figures, my sister and I endured the humiliation of oblong leatherette lunch bags embroidered with a Japanese crest. Trust me, it was so not cool to display Japanese symbols back in the day when people still freely spouted the word “Jap”. For my sister and me, our mother’s foreign-ness was cause for shame. Today, of course, we feel lucky to have had such a loving okasan inundating us with her rich culture. But for a child singled out because of a foreign parent, being unique among her peers was not necessarily welcomed.

This week’s Hip Hapa Homee was such a child, too. Meet Michele Thomas, aka Belgian War Baby, whose photo appears above. Michele created and manages a website dedicated to war brides. Check it out; then, read our interview with her, below:

http://www.geocities.com/us_warbrides/

Q: What’s a nice half-Belgian girl like you doing with a website about World War II war brides?

A: I became interested in war brides back in the 1980’s when I asked my mother, a lady I met one day in the supermarket who was also Belgian, and her friend (a war bride from France) to have lunch. At the time I was living in Northern Louisiana and didn’t know of anyone there who talked like my mom. Each war bride brought along her daughter, so there were seven of us. We daughters heard stories about our mothers that we had never heard before. It was very interesting. I knew I had to learn more about these strong women who did not speak English yet married American GI’s and left their families behind to start new lives.

Q: When did you start collecting these women’s stories?

A: I started my website in 1999, and my first answered questionnaire and stories from strangers started at that time.

Q: What is the most unusual story you’ve heard from a WWII war bride?

A: There are so many! It’s amazing to me that some of the brides would leave children behind in orphanages or with family members. Some women were also married when they had affairs with good-looking GI’s and ended up giving their children away. There are also stories about women being abandoned after arriving in the U.S.--the U.S. had given these women a one-way ticket here.

Q: What was it like for your mother to experience war as a civilian in Belgium?

A: It was very hard because the Germans were in her homeland. Her father was taken prisoner for awhile, and she was also questioned by the SS for being a spy. She was a high school girl on a field trip to the Atlantic Ocean and bought a red, white and blue nautical scarf as a souvenir. The SS took her in, and her father had to convince them that she had only purchased a souvenir. She was so scared. It was hard for her seeing so many friends disappear or put in prisons.

And, like most war brides, she met my father at a dance.

Q: I’ve said before that white Americans with foreign mothers share similar experiences with people of color. While it’s true that you could blend easier into the mainstream than me, culturally, you’re still different. In what ways did your mother bring you up differently from the average American kid?

A: One of the biggest things is the fact that we were not prejudiced. My mother and father were divorced in 1949, and my mother’s parents and brother moved to the U.S. out of fear of the Germans. This was the second time the Germans took over Belgium. I grew up in what I call “my own United Nations”. My mother’s friends were all Europeans from France, Spain, Italy, Greece, Germany and Poland. When we had a picnic, people would stare at us. The young men would be playing soccer--considered a strange game back then. We dressed differently, ate different foods, and would speak in another language others didn’t understand. I often heard Americans say, “Go back to where you came from.”

Q: What are the WWII war bride reunions like?

A: They’re wonderful! These ladies, mostly in their late 80’s, are full of life. They love to tell jokes--many dirty ones. They love to sing and dance. We are interviewing these women on DVD. Their stories are so sad, yet so funny. I love listening to them. They are so strong. A common thread among them is, “We made our choices and now we have to live with them.”

Q: You and I are who we are because of war. Are you a dove or hawk?

A: Gee, that’s a hard question. I guess a little of both. I’m very easygoing, but I will fight for myself and others who are treated badly because of what life gave them at the start. Judge me for me. I don’t care for people who can’t get past their own childhoods. After all, you had no control as a child but once you’re an adult it is up to you how you live your life. Hey, and no one calls me a “dumb foreigner” anymore.

Merci beaucoups, Madame Michele, for your dedication to our WWII war bride mothers! Your commitment and devotion are appreciated.

I also asked Michele about white English women who were forced by the British government to put their half black children fathered by African American GI’s in orphanages. Michele sent this interesting article in response:

http://www.blackpresence.co.uk/2009/03/the-african-mission-liverpool-england-1940s/

If any of you Hip Hapa Homeez are in the area, please note that the World War II War Brides Reunion will be held in San Francisco from September 30 through Oct 4 at the Double Tree Airport Hotel. This event is open to all war brides and their families. If you can't stay for its entirety, then just stop by to see what's going on. You’ll find a lively group of people who enjoy having a great time. The “My Story” section of the reunion will be on Tuesday from 2 pm to 6 pm, and ladies are invited to tell their stories. They will be taped and a DVD will be made. Last year’s DVD was a wonderful success, according to Michele.

Here’s a timely article about filmmakers who plan to document Japanese war brides:

http://www.herald-dispatch.com/news/ohio/x265522455/Faculty-members-filming-documentary-about-Japanese-war-brides

Until next week, please remember to join our Facebook group, Hip Hapa Homeez, and our Watermelon Sushi Fan page, too. Follow watermelonsushi on Twitter, check out the film at http://www.watermelonsushi.com, and our t-shirts at http://www.cafepress.com/hapateez

Next week, I’ll add a list of all the Ning sites where Watermelon Sushi can also be viewed.

Bonne nuit mes amis et amants!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Visitors

I admit I'm a consummate hostess. Back in the day, my sister and I would entertain rooms full of folks in our tiny one-bedroom apartment near Seattle's Lake Union. Thinking back now, I wonder if our neighbors suspected us of dealing drugs or being prostitutes because of our many visitors--mostly men--who'd stop by for a drink (usually coffee or something stronger) and a chat. Sometimes, one of them would scoop us up for a couple of games at a nearby pool hall. Other times, we'd go check out a Bruce Lee or Blaxploitation flick. And, still other times, we'd cruise to Seward Park for a jam session with my sister playing her twelve-string guitar.

In any case, more than loving to entertain, my sister and I loved being entertained. Our friends ranged from a naive white guy from Florida named Paul, who also played guitar and would duet with my sister, to a brother named Donzell whose cousin Goat was often the butt of his jokes. Donzell drove a Brougham and would take us dancing at various nightclubs until we'd finally stop for breakfast at an all-night Chinese restaurant on Broadway. There was Femi from Nigeria, Allan from L.A., and Darryl from round the way--my sister's classmates from the University. Interestingly, none of these men were quote unquote boyfriends, but rather acted as substitutes for the brothers that we lacked. Of the ladies, I remember Mila, a Filipina whose children all had black fathers. My sister's friends, Linda and Tien, were Japanese American and Vietnamese, respectively, and also had black husbands. Although not that common in the 1970's, interracial coupling between Asian Americans and blacks did happen. During this time, Asians weren't acceptable for marriage by whites, and most of the Asians we knew were either with other Asians or with blacks.

Just sharing stories with our friends helped shape our views of the world back then. In those days, before the Internet and instant exchanges, my sister and I often met new people in public places and through other friends. Each one had a tale to tell, and that's how we learned. Today, I meet people through every method imaginable. But my friendships are still just as rich and rewarding as ever.

This weekend, while I stayed with my mother, two friends notified me that they'd be in town so I invited them over.

Albert, an educator originally from Ghana, was driving from Oregon to Washington on his way to fly to a seminar in Maine. Although we'd been friends for years, we'd never met face to face before. Unfortunately, Albert arrived just as the NHK taiga series, Atsuhime, began. As any of my regular readers know, I am totally addicted to this show. I could hardly peel my eyes away from the screen as I instructed Albert where to sit and hang his coat. With the dog frantically pawing his legs, and my mother firing questions at him about his personal life, it was all my guest could do to maintain. My eyes glued to the TV screen, I'd periodically turn to look over my shoulder at Albert and explain the scene at the Ooku with Atsuhime and her ladies-in-waiting during the countdown of the Satsuma overtaking Edo castle. My mom's husband, in his failed attempt to be sociable, commented on how homely the real Atsuhime was compared to the actress playing her. As we ate the square wontons filled with vegetables that my mother made, she needlessly explained to Albert that they contained no meat because of my vegan diet. Observing their efforts to communicate, I served as an interpreter throughout. My mother doesn't speak Twee and Albert speaks no Japanese although two of his cousins live in Japan where they both have Japanese wives.

Shortly after Albert left to continue his trip, Heisue arrived. This young student from Seoul currently attends school in Boston and has undertaken an intensive project about Korean warbrides. Upon entering their living room, she bowed towards my mother and her husband, and we were all charmed. Proclaiming herself to be "global", Heisue told me the reason she spoke English with an American accent was because of "Sesame Street". Sipping green tea, Heisue and I discussed the importance of her work. Some of the warbrides she interviewed had been abandoned by their American military husbands once they arrived stateside. Yet they survived. We talked about how life had been for their mixed-race children with the additional burden of not having their own fathers in their lives. And, I took Heisue on a journey from the time before I was born, to my mother's early childhood. Even though my stories helped Heisue piece together her project, I was the one who felt cleansed. The communication between Heisue and my mother was fairly clear and they each spoke a few words of the other's language. When my mother remembered a Korean song, she began singing it and Heisue joined in. I wish I would've had my camera as it was one of those moments in life never to be repeated. Heisue was stunned that my Japanese mother knew all the lyrics to this very traditional Korean love song, and so was I. Then, my mother trotted out a calendar she's had forever featuring Korean models on each page. Like the time last year when she broke out the homemade kimchee for a mixed-race Korean friend, my mother was seriously trying to connect. Maybe that's where my sister and I inherited our penchant for making and keeping friends.

Above is a photo of one of the very first visitors I can remember--a fellow soldier and friend of my dad's in Germany.

In friendship forever...

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Hau'oli Makahiki Hou (And HAPA New Year)!

That's Hawai'ian, literally, for "happy, year, new".

Speaking of the islands, I always get a chuckle out of reading news stories about Hawai'i. Mostly written by mainlanders, the articles usually reflect the writers' unfamiliarity with things Hawai'ian. I have to admit that I, too, was surprised when I first moved to Honolulu over a decade ago. I guess I was expecting to see Native Hawai'ians running around in grass skirts and speaking their beautiful language that sounds of sea waves. Instead, what I found was Asians...lots of Asians. The Asian influence in Hawai'i is strong, yet they've also embraced Hawai'ian culture and managed to meld it with their own traditions; creating a unique blend of both--much like us multiracial folks.

It tickles me that AP contributors reporting about Obama vacationing in Kailua Oahu identified the city as being "close to downtown" when it's way over on windward side. They also wrote things like "SHAVED ICE" when everyone in Hawai'i says "SHAVE ICE". There's a loose national language operating over there--a blend of Hawai'ian, Japanese, Cantonese, Mandarin, Korean, Tagalog, Portuguese, English, etc. "all mix up" and spit out in a special way. I find it very similar to speaking to my mother who didn't arrive in the U.S. until she was 33, lived in segregated Richmond Texas for two years, then Germany for three. By the time, she had any opportunity to learn standard English, she was too busy working and raising two daughters. When I talk to my mom, it's like she has her own language.

Mom: "We go store now? I go buy green onion for natto."

Me: "Well...I was watching Atsuhime..."

Mom: "You not want to?"

Me: "Oh, all right."

Mom: "You no have to go."

Me: "I'll go. I'll go."

When I was a lot younger and living in our all white neighborhood devoid of immigrants, other kids upon meeting my mother would rudely state in front of her, "I can't understand what she's saying." While living in Hawai'i, I often thought how much easier it would've been for her had my father been stationed there instead of Ft. Lewis. But at Ft. Lewis, she had all her Japanese warbride girlfriends and they spoke rapid Japanese whenever they gathered for a lively game of hanafuda. I remember hanging around the table hoping to pick up on what they were saying until my mom would shoo me away.

But I digress. In case you aren't aware, biracial actress/singer/dancer Earth Kitt died last week. You may be too young to remember, but Ms. Kitt was banished from the White House when she told Lady Bird Johnson that the U.S. should not be in Vietnam. For years afterwards, Kitt was forced to eke out a career overseas as she was blacklisted and investigated by the FBI and CIA. Still, she persevered and enjoyed many successes throughout her life. Even though she started out working in the cotton fields of South Carolina, Kitt became an entertainer after she moved in with an aunt and attended the High School of Performing Arts in New York. The child of a black/Cherokee mother and white father, Kitt was a victim of One Drop Rule--unable to proclaim her multiracial heritages in a mono-racial world. She was 81.

On to something sunnier. It appears that the film Watermelon Sushi is making some progress lately. Besides the addition of Associate Producer Derrick Holmes of Tokyo, we've recently welcomed playwright Jaz Dorsey of Nashville into the circle also as an Associate Producer. Both men are aggressively clearing a path to production dollars, so stay tuned in '09 to see how far we travel. And, we're still selling Hapa*Teez t-shirts to help fund the film. If you haven't bought one yet, check out the newly added designs at: http://www.cafepress.com/hapateez

Remember, if you've made a purchase, contact us to make sure we have your name for the rear crawl credits: hiphapa@comcast.net

That's Chinese/Korean/American Scott Lee in the photo above toasting with tea at our favorite restaurant in Hawai'i. And, that's me in the photo here celebrating a new year in Germany. I wish I could remember who our family friends are in the pix with me, but it's been awhile. I think the African American sistah's name was Betty.

In closing, I wish you and yours omedetto gozaimasu, hau'oli makahiki hou and a HAPA new year!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Perfect Peace

Although I consider myself an armchair anti-war activist, I have to admit that growing up on military bases was one of the best things that happened to me and my sister. Ironically, we spent our teen years as peaceniks protesting the Vietnam War and the "military industrial complex". But looking back now, I see that had it not been for the U.S. Army I wouldn't have been born me. The only reason my father was in Japan was because of war. Had he not met and married my mother, I might've ended up with a Japanese otosan. What a strange concept to consider!

But back to childhood. Even though we were unaware of it at the time, those military bases were havens of perfect peace for us kids of mixed marriages. Shortly after WWII, American military men took warbrides from Europe, Asia and Australia. Many GI's ended up with German and Japanese wives. During our years at Ft. Lewis, I remember having lots of friends with Japanese or German mothers. Their fathers were sometimes white, sometimes black.

In any case, I never heard a single racist comment during that period. Instead, I learned snippets of various languages and cultural traditions from all of my classmates. My best friend, Sondra, whose family was Puerto Rican once invited me to her Catholic Church. Although I consider myself agnostic, it was richly rewarding to be exposed to someone else's religion. My sister's best friend, Tessie, was Filipina and I remember that meals served in her home were markedly different from what Sondra's family dined on. The mother of the Mexican family next door taught my mother to make a popular noodle dish. In fact, there was so much ethnic diversity in our neighborhood that it was like living at the United Nations. Only no one seemed to notice that everyone was different because being different was normal.

Several years later, when my father moved us to an all-white, middle-class neighborhood in nearby Tacoma, our neighbors there rolled up the welcome mat and tossed it out. Today, I realize that the only reason no one burned crosses in our yard was because they thought they had too much class although they probably thought about doing it. A fireman who lived across the street called my sister and me the "n-word" one day as we walked past his house. Huh? How'd you like to have him come put out the fire at your house? Let's see, "Ya'll are nothin' but a buncha "n-words" so I'ma jest let yo home burn down." Most of the kids in our 'hood just told us point blank that they weren't "allowed" to play in our yard like we had a disease or something. Only one girl, whose parents both worked in factories, ever actually came inside our house. I guess, in the eyes of the rest of the neighbors, her having laborer folks put her in the same class with us coloreds.

When I was in high school, my two best friends were also the offspring of warbrides. Silvia's mother was Austrian while Helen's mother was French. I was also friends with two girls who both had German mothers although one had a black father, and the other a white. I don't think any of us were particularly conscious of it then, but one of the reasons, I figure, that drew us together was our having mothers with accents. Having a foreign-born mother is what separated us from other classmates more so, I believe, than being mixed-race, or even black. I mean, it was a pretty big deal to attend some mother-daughter school function and present your mom to "real Americans" who would gawk at her before rudely demanding of you, "What did she say? I can't understand her." Of course, there was probably some remaining hostility towards Germans and Japanese who had been America's enemies during the war. Still, common sense would dictate that warbrides had been screened and approved for immigration by the U.S. How harmful could they've been? Was my mother toting a machine gun during the war? Was she the one who ordered the bombing of Pearl Harbor? Between dodging bombs dropped by Americans and running to bomb shelters, she barely survived on the few rations doled out by her government.

While we've come a long way since the days of outright animosity towards foreigners, we still have a ways to go. That's evident by some of the events that took place post-9/11. A friend of mine who is half black and half white, but looks of Arab descent, caught hell the first year following 9/11. When he once visited me in Los Angeles, he was stopped from taking photos of the LaBrea Tar Pits! No kidding.

These days, I'm grateful for my military upbringing although I remain vehemently anti-war. Still, I believe the only answer to peace is education. Until people learn the truth by studying accurately recorded history, we are doomed as a species to continue battling one another based on some physical trait.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

HAPA Birthday, Silvia B--War Bride Baby!

Silvia B (left in the photo) was my best friend in high school. We drew together because we were both considered weirdos among our so-called peers which only made us rebel more.

Although Silvia was very attractive with long silky black hair, green eyes and a husky voice, some of the athletes in our school (you know who you are Mr. Famous Football Player Who Married An Actress) would hiss and call her names whenever she walked down the hall. To this day, I still can't figure out why. Silvia didn't date anyone at our school so maybe they were just mad that she wouldn't give them a chance. After all, rejection is painful.

Besides, Silvia and I were both into older men anyway, especially musicians. Not that we went out with them either, but we did have our fantasies and they didn't include pimply-faced boys with crewcuts wearing lettermen jackets. I, in particular, would have never been able to date most of the boys in my school anyway, since I was "half Negro" and just about everyone else out of 1,500 students was white.

But Silvia was white, too--sort of. Like my mother, Silvia's mom was a war bride so maybe that took her down a notch in the eyes of the more "American" kids. Unlike my mother, Silvia's was a stay-at-home mom who raised a lot of kids--seven, if I remember correctly. A photo of Mrs. B sat in the living room, and whenever I was visiting I would stare at it in wonderment. Mrs. B was from Vienna and her picture showed a young woman with wavy auburn hair and a secret Mona Lisa smile similar to Silvia's. She spoke with a German/Austrian accent and smoked a lot of Tareyton 100's while drinking black instant coffee all day. Whenever she was in the mood, Mrs. B would tell us about her life during the war rattling off a litany of insults against Russian soldiers who, she claimed, would urinate in the sink and wash their hands in the toilet so uncouth were they. She hated Germans, too. Scar tissue from the war, I'm sure. Even though Mrs. B had lived in Austria, her parents were Czech and Yugoslavian and she considered herself a slav all the way. If I stayed for dinner, we might have eaten German potato salad made with oil and vinegar, or red cabbage cooked with wine.

I found it as fascinating listening to Mrs. B discuss the war in Europe as I did hearing my own mother talk about dodging bombs in Tokyo. That was a deep cultural connection that Silvia and I shared, but, at the time, I don't believe we even realized the impact of having war bride mothers. We just knew we didn't belong, and it made us do crazy things like when Silvia refused the advances of Jimmy Paige of Led Zeppelin backstage at a concert. Why should she have gone out with him anyway when her fantasy man was oh-so much more?

Silvia and I also hung out in Seattle's University District with our hippie friends, both of us with long, dangling hair, huge hoop earrings, and colorful satin skirts. Soon, the others began calling us The Gypsies.

Eventually, Silvia and I drove her '59 Chevy all the way to Pacific Grove California where we ended up living for six months among all the Timothy Leary drop-outs. It was an exhilarating time, but our middle-class upbringing didn't help us learn to survive hippiedom. So, we ended up back in the Northwest working at a television station, unbelievably, for the most controversial right-wing talk show host at the time.

Years passed, and eventually Silvia had a boyfriend, and then a son. I kept moving back to Cali and points beyond, but I would attempt to always stay in touch. After awhile, Silvia and I drifted so far apart that we couldn't reconnect. A few years ago, though, I found her and talked her into going to our high school reunion with me and my sister (who, for some reason, always goes to mine and not her own). As much as I hated my high school years, there's something intriguing about attending reunions and seeing all the people I hated as teenagers become adults.

Wherever you are Silvia B, know that you were a perfect friend at a time when I really needed someone like you. I salute you, and wish you a most HAPA birthday! (Although now that I've finished writing this, it's March 4 and no longer your day.) Hopefully, you don't mind me posting this snapshot of us taken at our 1998 reunion. Oh, yes. And, that's the gorgeous Maria Carter, the bellydancer, on the right. I didn't find out until that night that she is biracial, too--half Filipina and half Caucasian.

Namaste.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

P.S. Don't forget the t-shirts at http://www.cafepress.com/hapateez

Happy Hapa Leap Year!

In celebration of Leap Year, and the end of February, I've decided to cut back on blogging from nightly to maybe 2 or 3 times a week. Yeah, you heard that right. The Biracial Bloggerette is giving her fingers (and her mind, believe it or not) a much-needed break.

For one thing, I really could use the extra time to focus on creating more designs for the Hapa*Teez line of t-shirts that I'm getting tremendous response for--thank you, Watermelon Sushi fans!

Also, I'm currently producing several documentaries focused on the biracial and bicultural communities. Ever since I met the wonderful ladies of the WWII War Brides Association, I've been hearing that having two Caucasian parents from different countries was as much a traumatic experience for them as being of two ethnicities was for some of us mixed-race folks. I've been told about religious differences, language barriers, and hostile in-laws who refused to accept that their sons had married and brought home foreigners considered enemies of America. I think exploring the whole war brides phenomenon could be a monumental undertaking.

Along with the first hints of Spring, the weeks to come promise more interesting topics so don't stop reading my blog. Try these on for size:

1. Dealing With Tight Hair When Your Entire Life Experience Consists Of Handling Only Your Own Straight Locks: My mom used to blow dry our hair with an inverted vacuum cleaner hose, then rub sticky Alberto VO 5 petroleum jelly throughout it. My sister and I hated having our hair combed by her rough, pulling hands!

2. Asians And Toilet Paper: What's the deal with that? Why does my mom have rolls of that stuff laying around all over her house, and why do Asians prefer it over boxes of tissue to stick underneath their rear car windows?

3. Hapa, Puhleez! Why some hapa folks just get on my nerves. I may even name names. Well, at least in code.

4. Seven v. Seven: There are seven Japanese gods called kamisama takarabune and there are Seven African Powers with beginnings in Benin. What's up with that number 7, and how are the deities alike?

5. Hip v. Dork. Why are blacks considered hip and Asians dorks? I've met folks of both races that were just the opposite, so let's explore that.

6. "Yo!" in Ebonics means one thing. "Yo!" in Japanese means, well, it can mean several things.

7. Speaking of slang, what is up with the phrase "da kine"? People in Hawai'i love to use it, and I suspect that it has origins with the first Japanese that settled on the islands.

8. Hapa Friends Feature: There are some strong supporters of the hapa agenda out there that I'd like acknowledge. Whenever I can, I'll get them to write a Guest Blog. Otherwise, I'll talk about them myself. People like Chicago artist Laura Kina and her Hapa Soap Opera series and the fabulous Jen Chau of http://www.swirlinc.org in NYC deserve kudos for keepin' it real. That's Jen in the pix above, on the right with my friend Doris Wong, taken when I visited NYC a few years ago. There's more, like high school teacher Paulette Q. Thompson, but I'll shout-out the rest next time.

Meanwhile, oyasuminasai.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

More About War Brides

Because of an earlier blog outlining my mother's adventures as a "war bride", I received an email from Michele who is Vice President of the World War II War Brides Association. Here's her website, which is devoted to war brides of every nationality:

http://www.geocities.com/us_warbrides/

Michele is a "war baby" from Belgium.

I also received an email from Erin who handles membership for the World War II War Brides Association. Erin is a "war baby" from Australia.

I'm so thrilled these two women reached out to me because I've been thinking a lot lately about war brides. As much as I like telling the stories of biracial and bicultural children, I also realize that we wouldn't be here if our mothers hadn't taken that huge leap of faith.

For Japanese women like my mother who spoke very little English, the prospect of moving overseas with a man she'd known only a few years must have seemed monumental. That my Moms coped with Southern racism and all the wild elements of Texas (snakes, tarantulas, cockroaches, red bugs, etc.) makes her all the more courageous in my eyes. And, she did it with me as a toddler and my sister as an infant, too. Now, that's what I call strength. While it's true that dodging bombs in Tokyo may have been a little more challenging for her, living in a segregated Texas town without her own family or friends--or anyone who even spoke her language, for that matter--must've been a waking nightmare. My mother used to tell us that she cried every day during her first, horrific year in America.

If any of you out there have some good tales about your own war bride mother, please drop me a line. I'd like to share them with my readers.

And, that's my mother as a young, idealistic woman BT (before Texas) in the photo above.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

War Brides Revisited

About that phrase, "war bride"--well; it is redundant, isn't it? I mean, how does one marry a war? It's a lot like that word housewife. Are you the wife of your house? When did the two of you take your vows?

In fact, "war bride" was often derogatorily spat out towards obviously foreign women married to American GI's following WWII. And, sometimes it was used by people who were merely ignorant--like the Caucasian shopkeeper in Texas who greeted my mother with, "Are you a Jap?" He was simply using language acceptable at the time and printed in mainstream newspapers everywhere. Further, he'd never even seen an Asian before. Not that it excuses his idiocy, but my Moms is cool. She tells us that she just laughed at him like she always does when people act stupidly towards her.

There's a lot to acknowledge the brides of war for--like their courage in marrying and mating with men once considered to be an enemy of their country. Not to mention the symbolism of their union looking as if the winner is collecting his spoils. And, for those women who married American military men, moving to a strange land and leaving behind their families has to be tops on the list of brave things to do.

For my mother, coming to Richmond Texas in the 1950's was a shift in consciousness. Evidently, she'd heard the rumors about the streets of America being paved in gold, and may have even wanted to believe it after living through the devastation of her country. So, not surprisingly, she was ill-prepared for the segregated all-black housing where we ended up--she and I, before my sister was born. My father, still an active soldier then, was stationed 200 miles away and made a trip home only once every two weeks. With a limited ability to speak and understand English (especially the Southern variety), Moms somehow managed to keep my sister and me clean, well-fed, safe and entertained in that small Texas town. That clever girl even had friends sending her Japanese food--from New Jersey!

Even today, Moms still tells the tales of how she once fended off a snake that crawled over her feet after my sister, then a baby, awakened screaming one night. And, there's the story of how my paternal grandmother attempted to teach her how to wring a chicken's neck. Finding it a repugnant chore, Moms nervously attempted to cover the chicken's head in newspaper--like a blindfold--as if preventing the poor creature from seeing its executioner. But no matter how much Moms twisted, turned and swung that poor chicken around by the neck, it still walked when it landed--its head securely fastened. So, my mother changed her tactics and stepped on the chicken's head instead. By the time, she got the head removed, the muscles had become so stiff with fear that the chicken made a tough fryer. Moms laughs when she tells us how my dad tried to take a bite of drumstick, but had to settle for gnawing at it. (Personally, as a vegan, this story is hard for me to hear. Sob!)

Just like that unfortunate chicken's flesh, those were some tough times in my mother's life. She recalls being with my father's relatives one day when they were all catching a bus. As our kin climbed aboard single file, the Caucasian driver stopped my mother and waved towards our black relatives already in their seats at the rear. Smiling conspiratorially, he told Moms, "Oh, you don't have to go to the back with them." I guess he reckoned that with Mom's skin only a shade darker than his, she was qualified to ride up front with the likes of his hillbilly self.

Oh, there's more--the tarantulas covering the screen door every morning, the red bugs that ate us up so badly we looked like ashy ghosts in calamine lotion suits, and the rednecks that we didn't dare speak to first nor look directly in the eye. Backwoods Texas was the hell my mother thought she'd descended to on her very first trip to the U.S. as the bride of a war.

There's her photo, above, taken while she was pregnant with my sister.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

P.S. Don't forget to go here for some hip hapa Hapawood stars: http://www.cafepress.com/hapateez