What Echoes Through My Mind
Mar. 14th, 2011 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deirdreLast year, my pen posse friends, including ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethernautrix, were with me over at Penopoly when we heard a rather amazing story of the past. During WW2, when Japanese Americans were rounded up for interment camps, a Japanese American family in San Jose packed their dry goods store into crates, put them underneath the house, then went off to camps.
Over sixty years later, the family wants to sell the house; the goods are still in crates that have never been unpacked because they were a reminder of the pain and considered unlucky, or at least unfortunate.
Our friend Roger bought the entire lot, and he and his assistants moved the crates and arranged the sale of goods. A few of the less valuable items he kept, including some pads that say "San Jose," which I now have one of. Every time I see mine, I'm sad and overwhelmed even though I wasn't alive during WW2, and had nothing to do with that family's misfortune.
So when I read stories like what happened to Saito, and I read phrases like, "We can never live here again," I understand it on a different level than I did before hearing about that earlier family's misfortunes on the other side of the Pacific.
ethernautrix, were with me over at Penopoly when we heard a rather amazing story of the past. During WW2, when Japanese Americans were rounded up for interment camps, a Japanese American family in San Jose packed their dry goods store into crates, put them underneath the house, then went off to camps.Over sixty years later, the family wants to sell the house; the goods are still in crates that have never been unpacked because they were a reminder of the pain and considered unlucky, or at least unfortunate.
Our friend Roger bought the entire lot, and he and his assistants moved the crates and arranged the sale of goods. A few of the less valuable items he kept, including some pads that say "San Jose," which I now have one of. Every time I see mine, I'm sad and overwhelmed even though I wasn't alive during WW2, and had nothing to do with that family's misfortune.
So when I read stories like what happened to Saito, and I read phrases like, "We can never live here again," I understand it on a different level than I did before hearing about that earlier family's misfortunes on the other side of the Pacific.