My speech from Grandma’s memorial service, 2016
My Grandma Oji passed away 5 years ago this week. Tomorrow would have been her 101st birthday. Thinking of her a lot today.
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I'm the only daughter of Mitzi's second daughter Helen. I grew up 3000 miles away. Summers spent in Yuba City as a child are the happiest memories of my youth. Growing up in New York City, I was not allowed out of the apartment unsupervised, was never out of the sight of my parents or caretakers. There is irony in growing up in America's most cultured city and having trips to Yuba City represent ultimate freedom! The exuberance of coming here, to suburban California, and getting to explore the streets unsupervised by adults for two weeks every summer was the highlight of my young life. Always present was Grandma Mitzi, whom we called Grandma Oji, although the title "Grandma Oji" has signified many a grandmother within our large family. She was firm and commanding at times, but playful when the time was right, and had a brilliant smile and a laugh that could ignite smiles and laughter in the rest of us. I never met my grandfather, but I spent many a time staring at his portrait in the room of the house Grandma spent the most time in: the family room. Above her giant TV with the double-VHS bootleg operation that she used to dub thousands upon thousands of episodes of her favorite Japanese and Korean drama TV shows, and to watch her massive collection of classic movies, his face always looked back with an air of stern kindness. Grandma spoke often of what a good, kind man he was, and how talented - he could pick up and play any instrument, she said. Any instrument! She could be stern with me, but also so sweet and kind and encouraging, especially later on in her life. When I was fourteen I came to stay with her for the whole summer. She drove me to a sewing class once a week, and at home she sewed for me some plaid pants at my request which were both grandparent-approved and in my mind, totally punk. It was 1996. She bought me my first portable CD player and headphones so that I could listen to the loud, raucous music I liked without her having to hear it. She let me use her karaoke machine to write and record my own songs on the electric guitar I had brought from New York. She made the best Japanese food and always had a large supply of candy in the cupboards and in a glass jar on the countertop. It is from Grandma that I get my sweet tooth. Grandma Mitzi's first language was Japanese, because her parents immigrated from Japan. Recently I had the privilege to see a folder of official documents including their travel papers. Sanzo and Matsuyo Kuwamoto came on a boat, the SS Tenyo Maru, which departed Nagasaki on January 27, 1918. They taught their five California-born children only Japanese language and customs, and intended to return to Japan when they could. Obviously I'm glad this never happened. Because of the anti-Japanese sentiment which permeated the United States through WWII and the 1940s and 50s, many Japanese-Americans took to identifying primarily as Americans and assimilating best they could. As a result, my mom and her sister were never taught Japanese by their parents, same as the majority of their cousins and peers. Later on in Mitzi's life, my mom Helen, whose artwork has continually been influenced by Japanese culture and aesthetics for her whole adult life, became dedicated to studying Japanese and would often practice with her mom on the phone. Recently I began to study Japanese myself. I get my joy of language study from my mom, and so I look forward to practicing with her the way that she would practice with Grandma. My mom was in her 40s the first time she went to Japan, and in 2007 my parents Helen and Charles, my Aunt Jane and Uncle Curt, and Grandma Mitzi traveled there together. It was Grandma's last trip to Japan. I look forward to traveling with my mom and practicing Japanese with her in the coming years. I feel like Grandma Mitzi will always be present in our lives, even though we can only see her in our memories and her house feels empty and strange. Her face is fresh in my memory, just like I can picture the portrait of Grandpa, I can picture Grandma smiling and laughing and it still makes me smile. Thank you all for being here today.
(Originally written April 9, 2016)
