Knock. Knock.

September 13, 2014 by Admin

By Ron Sonoda

Early evening, after sunset


Knock.  Knock.

Daddy, somebody go stay knock on door.

Knock.  Knock.

Knock.  Knock.

Go open da’ door.  See who stay outside . . .

What de’ want?

Through the door, the soldiers with guns said:  “We can see lights from your lamp coming around the blackout shades.”

De’ say de’ can see da’ light comin’ from behin’ da’ curtain.

De’ say go cova up da’ light.

Tell ‘em, we go fix ‘em.

I say I too sked talk to dem.

My father went outside to talk to them.

He closed the door.

I cannot see him but I can hear him talk to a soldier:

“We gonna’ cova ‘em up.”

He stayed outside a long time.

I worried . . . Dad outside a long time.

I worried that they were going to do something to him.

The door opens, it’s my father.

He pull down the shades.

He is okay, the soldiers gone.

In the aftermath of World War II, more than 110,000 persons of Japanese ancestry – roughly two-thirds of whom were American citizens – were released from forced imprisonment in U.S. concentration camps. But released to return where, after being taken from their homes along the West Coast? When they were finally allowed to leave the internment camps, they faced a new challenge: How do you resume a life so interrupted.
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