Dad was born and raised in his early years in Hiroshima, Japan. His family came to America leaving him behind with an aunt and uncle at the age of 10-11. He then followed his family to this country in the early '20s. It remains a mystery why his family left him with relatives while the rest came over, and I've never been able to find out just why that happened. There were other quirks as well - for example, Dad went to school in the Warm Springs section of Fremont only through the early grade levels even though he was older than most of his classmates, and on learning sufficient English to make his way in the community, left school to work in order to help the family put his younger brother through school. My uncle ended up going through college, and eventually entered the real estate business in Los Angeles and made quite a fortune for himself. Over the years there was always some tension between my uncle's family and my parents, though the children of the two families seemed to get along all right. In later years I learned that Dad for some reason was the black sheep of the family, but never found an explanation for his status. Perhaps the worst of all this in my Mom's eyes, was the fact that my uncle never said a word of thanks to Dad for all the hard work he went through to put my uncle through school...
Our family lived on a smallish farm outside Atwater, California, in the rich agricultural mid-section of the San Joaquin Valley. We raised freestone Alberta peaches, Thompson grapes, and soft-shelled Nonpereil almonds. I worked many a day and night helping to bring in the harvest, irrigating throughout the year, and learning the art of pruning trees and vines - it was a tough though enriching life being on the farm...
While Dad spoke English, it was English-as-a-second-language for him, and his pidgeon bent to it was difficult for some to understand. He was a shy man, and this didn't help him with social contacts in and around the community and at the fruit exchange where we delivered our crops. Dad nevertheless managed to put himself forward and participate in the community, volunteering to manage all the gardening chores at the Methodist Church, attending PTA meetings while Mom was president, and supporting Mom as she led the Cub Scout den in our home. Dad gained a high level of respect for his efforts, and people in town and in the surrounding farm lands accepted him in the community...
In the face of his challenges, most of which he overcame through sheer determination and a strong will, he became a member in good standing in our local community. So, it was with pleasure that he accepted the invitation of the scoutmaster of the local scout troop to assist during a weekend camporee. I learned all of this many years later. It seems that while we, the scouts, were camping and working in various activities towards some merit badge, Dad had an encounter with the adult leaders that significantly raised his tender in my eyes considerably, though this was delayed until years later when I finally learned of it. After dinner and the evening program, the scouts all turned in. The adult scout leaders retired to the leader's tent, and engaged in a rousing poker game. Dad was invited to participate, and when he came into the tent and found what they were doing, he chewed them out for gambling during a scouting camp-out. I can imagine his indignation, and his choice use of words. Here was a rather stoic, shy and introverted individual with a language barrier, climbing all over the backs of a group of men he in some ways must have felt less-than. The men were surprised, embarrassed, and chagrined at being called on the carpet for what they were doing. No one said anything, as I understand, but the game folded, at least for the evening. I never heard what the men said to Dad, then or later - Mom just said they were too embarrassed to say anything. As for holding any grudges for having challenged them, I don't know if any did, but he wasn't invited to help out with any future scout outings... |
