Every year my father had to go sign a lease and he’d go to the landlord's house. And I stayed in the car. He was never invited in to a white man's house. The landlord would bring the paper, and then my father would hold it against the door outside and sign it.
“Even before WWII, I distrusted the government’s secrecy, propaganda, and censoring that was part of the ‘war news.’ I was especially upset when I realized that letters I received from Aiko and her sister were censored.”
“They didn’t tell us about doing away with our citizenship or nothing. But they didn’t warn us. They had a big cafeteria or gym that we met in, the whole camp. That was all full. The people of draft age, some with their parents.”
“With her husband gone and no other family members to help, I can only guess that my mother felt overwhelmed by such terrible circumstances and believed that my best chance at finding a stable home would be with another family.”
So you know, people were after us. I mean, they didn’t want us around. They made acquisitions and threats and things like that. So I couldn't believe those things were happening. Maybe it was the best thing that they sent us into the camp, to protect us.
“My mom just about died in camp that first year because it was so damn hot. And I remember I used to have to go to the canteen every day. And they kept saying, ‘Hey get your ass out of here. We’re ain’t going to give you anymore ice.’ But everybody suffered if they weren’t used to the heat. So mom just about perished, died.”