you should tell one of your advisors.”
“I am afraid it will only make them more angry. Perhaps it is my …” She looked for the right word, and then settled for the next best one. “Perhaps it is my responsibility that they do not like me.” She meant fault , but Reiko knew better than that, and thought it unlikely. She had run into the same thing when she'd gone to school in Fresno, and times didn't seem to have changed much. As long as they were in a large Japanese community, they were comfortable and safe, but when one moved into other worlds, there were always people who were threatened by it. It was remarkable to realize that despite all the changes around the world, and modern developments, it was still against the law for a Japanese to marry a Caucasian in California. But it was all a little too insidious to explain to an eighteen-year-old girl from Kyoto.
“It's their loss, Hiroko. You'll make friends there eventually. Just be patient. And try to stay away from the ones you know don't like you.” It was what she had told Sally and Ken. They both went to schools where there were Caucasians as well as Japanese, and now and then each of them had encountered prejudice among their peers, or friends' parents, or their teachers. It always hurt Reiko terribly when she heard about it. And in some ways it seemed simpler to her when her children had Japanese friends, especially now that they were older, and romance had entered the picture. What Reiko didn't know was that the boy down the street that Sally was so enamored with was half Irish and half Polish. “You can come home every weekend if you want to,” she said to Hiroko. But it was a sad lesson for her to learn, and Hiroko insisted that she had to face it with gambare , to endure quietly and bravely. She had promised to persevere no matter how unfriendly the girls were at St. Andrew's. But despite Hiroko's determination, Reiko was still upset about it when she told Tak that evening after dinner.
“She could have run into the same thing at Stanford,” he said honestly, when Reiko insisted that he write to Masao and ask him to let her transfer. “The problem is by no means exclusive to St. Andrew's, Rei. After all, this is California.”
“And that makes it all right?” She was furious that he was so wiling to accept it.
“That makes it what is. They want to keep us segregated from them. They want to believe we're differ-ent. And all the differences in our culture, all the little traditions, all the things that our parents and grandparents cling to, are what scare them. It's all part of what makes us different.” It was old news to him, but he was sorry for Hiroko anyway. She was a sweet girl and their reaction had come as a shock to her. But Takeo knew, as Reiko did, that there was nothing they could do to change it. “She hasn't been wearing her kimonos at school, has she?” he asked. That certainly wouldn't help her be accepted, but even in Western clothes, she was so totally Japanese, and so obviously unlike the other students.
“I doubt it. I think she left them all here.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” But he promised to talk to her, and he did the next day. But he had no more advice to offer her than Reiko had. She would simply have to live with their prejudice, and try to find some friends who didn't share those views. She would meet girls in time who felt differently, and in the meantime, she was always welcome in Palo Alto.
But it was easy to see that the problem hadn't improved when, a month later, she was still coming home to them every weekend. Every Friday afternoon she took the train back to them, just as every Friday the chauffeur with the limousine came to pick up Anne Spencer. In the past three weeks she had spoken to Hiroko exactly once, and only then to tell her to move her suitcase.
“That's outrageous,” Peter said, when Tak explained it to him.
“It's not the school. It's just the girls, and probably no more than a
“I am afraid it will only make them more angry. Perhaps it is my …” She looked for the right word, and then settled for the next best one. “Perhaps it is my responsibility that they do not like me.” She meant fault , but Reiko knew better than that, and thought it unlikely. She had run into the same thing when she'd gone to school in Fresno, and times didn't seem to have changed much. As long as they were in a large Japanese community, they were comfortable and safe, but when one moved into other worlds, there were always people who were threatened by it. It was remarkable to realize that despite all the changes around the world, and modern developments, it was still against the law for a Japanese to marry a Caucasian in California. But it was all a little too insidious to explain to an eighteen-year-old girl from Kyoto.
“It's their loss, Hiroko. You'll make friends there eventually. Just be patient. And try to stay away from the ones you know don't like you.” It was what she had told Sally and Ken. They both went to schools where there were Caucasians as well as Japanese, and now and then each of them had encountered prejudice among their peers, or friends' parents, or their teachers. It always hurt Reiko terribly when she heard about it. And in some ways it seemed simpler to her when her children had Japanese friends, especially now that they were older, and romance had entered the picture. What Reiko didn't know was that the boy down the street that Sally was so enamored with was half Irish and half Polish. “You can come home every weekend if you want to,” she said to Hiroko. But it was a sad lesson for her to learn, and Hiroko insisted that she had to face it with gambare , to endure quietly and bravely. She had promised to persevere no matter how unfriendly the girls were at St. Andrew's. But despite Hiroko's determination, Reiko was still upset about it when she told Tak that evening after dinner.
“She could have run into the same thing at Stanford,” he said honestly, when Reiko insisted that he write to Masao and ask him to let her transfer. “The problem is by no means exclusive to St. Andrew's, Rei. After all, this is California.”
“And that makes it all right?” She was furious that he was so wiling to accept it.
“That makes it what is. They want to keep us segregated from them. They want to believe we're differ-ent. And all the differences in our culture, all the little traditions, all the things that our parents and grandparents cling to, are what scare them. It's all part of what makes us different.” It was old news to him, but he was sorry for Hiroko anyway. She was a sweet girl and their reaction had come as a shock to her. But Takeo knew, as Reiko did, that there was nothing they could do to change it. “She hasn't been wearing her kimonos at school, has she?” he asked. That certainly wouldn't help her be accepted, but even in Western clothes, she was so totally Japanese, and so obviously unlike the other students.
“I doubt it. I think she left them all here.”
“Good. Keep it that way.” But he promised to talk to her, and he did the next day. But he had no more advice to offer her than Reiko had. She would simply have to live with their prejudice, and try to find some friends who didn't share those views. She would meet girls in time who felt differently, and in the meantime, she was always welcome in Palo Alto.
But it was easy to see that the problem hadn't improved when, a month later, she was still coming home to them every weekend. Every Friday afternoon she took the train back to them, just as every Friday the chauffeur with the limousine came to pick up Anne Spencer. In the past three weeks she had spoken to Hiroko exactly once, and only then to tell her to move her suitcase.
“That's outrageous,” Peter said, when Tak explained it to him.
“It's not the school. It's just the girls, and probably no more than a
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