My mother thinks she is Christian now, but is she really?
A close friend of my mother’s she met while living in senior-assisted living is her legal guardian now – her caregiver with power of attorney. Because I live in Alabama, her guardian in Los Angeles is number one on her emergency list, and I am number two (just makes sense; what can I do from a distance?). Because of this, I didn’t learn of her passing until the morning after, and I learned the news from the guardian – the hospice care called me first, but when I returned the call we were disconnected.
What actually surprised me was that, during that conversation with my mother’s legal caregiver, I learned that my mother had told others that she was Christian...thus the question as to whether I need candles or incense for the funeral service. At first that surprised me, I never would have expected her to make such an assertion. But as I thought about it, things began to make sense, and it brought heartfelt tears to me, as I know why she said this. One could ask why Mitsue and Jimmy took me to a Christian chapel back in 1978 (why not go with Elvis, right)? But more importantly, it provided an explanation for a series of events that brought me closer to my mother after Jimmy passed in June 1994.
After Jimmy's Funeral
My mother was devastated to lose Jimmy, and as the two of us struggled adjusting to life without him, I told her I wanted to start going to church; my real reason for attending – it was getting lonely living in Gardena without any friends my own age. While being closer to my mother again was nice for a while, it was beginning to get old fast. My mother suggested that the two of us begin attending a Christian church in Gardena within walking distance, the Garden Valley Baptist Church, that provided services in both Japanese and English. We became regular attenders…every Sunday she would go off to the adjoining room to the right for Japanese service, while I went to the English service. It was convenient to hold them at the same time, and we weren’t the only family that split itself up this way. I also became active in the young adult Sunday school group that met early Sunday evenings; made some Japanese-American friends there. All this time I thought my mother was doing something new to her, going to church to keep me company…now I suspect otherwise.
You see, my mother knew the Japanese pastor really well, and I now believe that Gardena Valley Baptist was Jimmy’s church for a long time. After all, he and his mother had lived in Gardena for a long time, probably since World War II ended (I will explain more later). My mother was never a church-going person before, but Jimmy was probably very active at one point in time. I never gave it a second thought this was the pastor that came to Jimmy’s funeral as well. I was so worried about getting the eulogy right…it just never registered.
Two Religions in One
This bifurcation in religious affiliation on the part of my mother is something I will need to address in my mother’s eulogy…initially I was a little perplexed as to how to explain it. It is kind of like my mother having two citizenships, or not even one in many respects…confusion may be my mother’s middle name. But after presenting a Sunday School lesson at the First United Methodist Church of Jacksonville (member since 2008), I think that my mother has always been a Buddhist; at least with respect to her beliefs and past culture. She has relied heavily on Buddhist traditions (such as Obon) whenever she remembered and honored her father or Jimmy. This included the Buddha, the Buddhist chime bowl, three sticks of incense, and prayer beads, in a place set up in our duplex. She also brought Buddhist things to Jimmy’s grave – food, water, and Japanese coins – things the spirit would need when they came back to share a day with us. But so far as her life and place of worship outside the home, I think she embraced Christianity to be closer to Jimmy. And she wanted to always stay close to him, including being buried next to him – which meant remaining a Christian, even after his death.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Saturday, November 7, 2015
My mother acting like a mother
Sam Snead and Barry – partners in crime
I will say that my four closest friends when I was younger, at least that I hung out with outside of school, were probably Barry Elliott and Mike LeClaire in high school, John Rule and Steve Hauser in junior high. My mother knew them very well, and she probably liked Mike the best – you see, Mike and I were both navy brats and shared a lot of similarities – his father was in the U.S. Navy, and his mother was Japanese as well. Mike was in fact one of the people I was so looking forward to re-connecting with at my Madison High reunion – unfortunately he died back in 2005, an infection that was a complication after surgery, before that could happen. Mike, Barry, and I were partners in crime during high school.
Forgiving or Over-protective?
Speaking of crime, while I rarely incurred my mother’s wrath in person, later in my life I found out about a few times that she “covered up for me”. The craziest was when I evidently had a run in with the law when I was 15…yeah, I have to fess up now, I was a criminal. That was back in 1972, when I was a sophomore at Madison High. While I was sitting around one day with my friend Barry, we got this idea to create something for us to do…it involved practicing golf…we had a few old clubs, but needed some golf balls. I can’t recall which of us came up with the idea – probably myself – but we decided to grab some the golf balls that had been hit over the driving range fence at the Sam Snead Golf Course. Great idea, right? After all, these balls were now lying in Tecolote Canyon, what we thought was public property, waiting the right person to grab them…no harm, no foul. Would they ever pick them up, and would they really miss any, if we grabbed a few? So we snatched about 30-40 golf balls, and stuck them in a large plastic paint bucket in my garage.
Problem was the Hedrick family was popular in the neighborhood, particularly my father Sam, and I was a good kid that many knew…including people at the gold course. Evidently an employee saw us, and they were able to identify me. While they didn’t recognize Barry, they did send a police officer over to my house one day while I was in school asking about the golf balls. My mother paid off the golf course to not press charges, but she never told me. I didn’t find out about my mother’s cover up until Christmas 2012, spending quality time with her and talking about the good and bad things I’d done throughout our lives. Barry never found out about it, but I’m sure he’ll be as surprised as I was…that was my mother – always looking out for Jeff.
Previously I confessed that I was a “partner in crime” with my mother where gambling was concerned (a little under-age gambling); hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?LOL Trips to the casinos was one of the things that bonded our relationship for years as I from a teenager into my young adult years. Later, if I ever write a book, I have a chapter or two, several stories related to horse racing still to come…I have included this information here to relate that my mother was not simply a great cook and a great mother (which she was); she also knew how to have good time, led an exciting and entertaining lifestyle…and I will assert she was the most forgiving mother a son could ever ask for.
I will say that my four closest friends when I was younger, at least that I hung out with outside of school, were probably Barry Elliott and Mike LeClaire in high school, John Rule and Steve Hauser in junior high. My mother knew them very well, and she probably liked Mike the best – you see, Mike and I were both navy brats and shared a lot of similarities – his father was in the U.S. Navy, and his mother was Japanese as well. Mike was in fact one of the people I was so looking forward to re-connecting with at my Madison High reunion – unfortunately he died back in 2005, an infection that was a complication after surgery, before that could happen. Mike, Barry, and I were partners in crime during high school.
Forgiving or Over-protective?
Speaking of crime, while I rarely incurred my mother’s wrath in person, later in my life I found out about a few times that she “covered up for me”. The craziest was when I evidently had a run in with the law when I was 15…yeah, I have to fess up now, I was a criminal. That was back in 1972, when I was a sophomore at Madison High. While I was sitting around one day with my friend Barry, we got this idea to create something for us to do…it involved practicing golf…we had a few old clubs, but needed some golf balls. I can’t recall which of us came up with the idea – probably myself – but we decided to grab some the golf balls that had been hit over the driving range fence at the Sam Snead Golf Course. Great idea, right? After all, these balls were now lying in Tecolote Canyon, what we thought was public property, waiting the right person to grab them…no harm, no foul. Would they ever pick them up, and would they really miss any, if we grabbed a few? So we snatched about 30-40 golf balls, and stuck them in a large plastic paint bucket in my garage.
Problem was the Hedrick family was popular in the neighborhood, particularly my father Sam, and I was a good kid that many knew…including people at the gold course. Evidently an employee saw us, and they were able to identify me. While they didn’t recognize Barry, they did send a police officer over to my house one day while I was in school asking about the golf balls. My mother paid off the golf course to not press charges, but she never told me. I didn’t find out about my mother’s cover up until Christmas 2012, spending quality time with her and talking about the good and bad things I’d done throughout our lives. Barry never found out about it, but I’m sure he’ll be as surprised as I was…that was my mother – always looking out for Jeff.
Previously I confessed that I was a “partner in crime” with my mother where gambling was concerned (a little under-age gambling); hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?LOL Trips to the casinos was one of the things that bonded our relationship for years as I from a teenager into my young adult years. Later, if I ever write a book, I have a chapter or two, several stories related to horse racing still to come…I have included this information here to relate that my mother was not simply a great cook and a great mother (which she was); she also knew how to have good time, led an exciting and entertaining lifestyle…and I will assert she was the most forgiving mother a son could ever ask for.
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Okaasan Knows Best - Except for Sweets
Except for Spam, I shared many common favorites with my mother, with respect to food dishes. We both had a voracious love for chocolate, her moreso than myself. I loved peanut butter moreso, so when I first discovered Reese’s cups, it was love at first bite. If my mom did “get American” with a sandwich for lunch, she’d usually whip up toasted peanut butter or a grilled cheese made with Velveeta (like Spam, another staple in the Hedrick household). Milk was always offered with option for Ovaltine added, which I almost never refused.
As it turns out, many years later in my life I discovered that such cravings (for sweets) were indeed genetic – my mother was diagnosed with sugar diabetes by the time she was 50, taking Glucotrol or some other pill initially, and having to do sugar tests by the time she was 55 – she hated pricking her fingers (sigh). She needed insulin shots by about 2010…she also hated needles. The possible reason? Back in the seventies and eighties, There was a significant Japanese population living in Gardena - and Japanese malls - you know, the Salad Bowl instead of the Melting Pot - that's what Los Angeles really was; there was a Koreatown, Chinatown, and Little Tokyo – what my mom and others also called J-town. The Japanese confectionery stores in Gardena and Torrance received a lot of my mother's business, she was a regular until about 2000. Her love of Japanese sweets took a hit for many years after that, no more sweet bean, mochi, or anpan. I will confess that once my mother had been in senior assisted living for a while, I would sneak in some her favorites, an anpan or two and definitely her favorite tuna sushi, when I came to visit at Christmas time every year.
As for myself, when I was in my thirties, I watched my sugar levels even before finding out my mother was on diabetes medication – I restricted myself to diet beverages – which is what I had been drinking a lot of since I was 13 – but that’s another story. Luckily I’ve never had to medicate for diabetes, but I have had my run-ins controlling my cholesterol level – also another story.
Any “Americanizing” of what my mother cooked was done entirely to please her husband Sam and son Jeff, and later on just me. If she had a choice, she would cook Japanese all the time. Incidentally, I knew when my mother was mad at me, because she called me “Jeffrey” instead of “Jeff”…if she ever included my middle name, I was really in trouble. But that only happened a couple of times in my life, moments I’d like to forget…she really was never as strict with me as she should have been. There were two other Japanese expletives that my mother often threw my direction…baka when I did something stupid, baka tare when I was a stupid idiot...both usually with a laugh or chuckle. These were my “verbal punishments”, shaming me whenever I goofed up – tough love… I was rarely spanked. Of course, there was also “baka janai ka da, you-aa” – her asking me the rhetorical question – you sure are stupid, aren’t you? She had to be really ticked off for that, the only bad Japanese words I ever recall her using. I had a few Americans friends whose mothers sometimes commented, “must have switched babies at birth, cuz I know my son would never do that” or the simpler “just like your father.” The latter comment would never be accepted in Japanese culture, one where respect is taught from birth, with respect for elders (I am referring to the elderly here, not just for adults when you are young) tantamount. Regardless, back in the day my close friends knew my mother from their visits to our house in Clairemont and mentioned what a great hostess she was, and I think most of my friends have fond memories of her hospitality.
As it turns out, many years later in my life I discovered that such cravings (for sweets) were indeed genetic – my mother was diagnosed with sugar diabetes by the time she was 50, taking Glucotrol or some other pill initially, and having to do sugar tests by the time she was 55 – she hated pricking her fingers (sigh). She needed insulin shots by about 2010…she also hated needles. The possible reason? Back in the seventies and eighties, There was a significant Japanese population living in Gardena - and Japanese malls - you know, the Salad Bowl instead of the Melting Pot - that's what Los Angeles really was; there was a Koreatown, Chinatown, and Little Tokyo – what my mom and others also called J-town. The Japanese confectionery stores in Gardena and Torrance received a lot of my mother's business, she was a regular until about 2000. Her love of Japanese sweets took a hit for many years after that, no more sweet bean, mochi, or anpan. I will confess that once my mother had been in senior assisted living for a while, I would sneak in some her favorites, an anpan or two and definitely her favorite tuna sushi, when I came to visit at Christmas time every year.
As for myself, when I was in my thirties, I watched my sugar levels even before finding out my mother was on diabetes medication – I restricted myself to diet beverages – which is what I had been drinking a lot of since I was 13 – but that’s another story. Luckily I’ve never had to medicate for diabetes, but I have had my run-ins controlling my cholesterol level – also another story.
Any “Americanizing” of what my mother cooked was done entirely to please her husband Sam and son Jeff, and later on just me. If she had a choice, she would cook Japanese all the time. Incidentally, I knew when my mother was mad at me, because she called me “Jeffrey” instead of “Jeff”…if she ever included my middle name, I was really in trouble. But that only happened a couple of times in my life, moments I’d like to forget…she really was never as strict with me as she should have been. There were two other Japanese expletives that my mother often threw my direction…baka when I did something stupid, baka tare when I was a stupid idiot...both usually with a laugh or chuckle. These were my “verbal punishments”, shaming me whenever I goofed up – tough love… I was rarely spanked. Of course, there was also “baka janai ka da, you-aa” – her asking me the rhetorical question – you sure are stupid, aren’t you? She had to be really ticked off for that, the only bad Japanese words I ever recall her using. I had a few Americans friends whose mothers sometimes commented, “must have switched babies at birth, cuz I know my son would never do that” or the simpler “just like your father.” The latter comment would never be accepted in Japanese culture, one where respect is taught from birth, with respect for elders (I am referring to the elderly here, not just for adults when you are young) tantamount. Regardless, back in the day my close friends knew my mother from their visits to our house in Clairemont and mentioned what a great hostess she was, and I think most of my friends have fond memories of her hospitality.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Sukiyaki, Music, and Television
So now you know one of the most common meals I had when I was young – rice with one raw egg, a tablespoon or so of soy sauce, mix well to form a liquid-y dark orange bowl of rice. Sukiyaki is a Japanese stir-fry dish - the specialty dinner at Miyako’s, cooked live in the Japanese dining rooms. In my mother’s kitchen (one of her domains, don’t mess with her, question her expertise there (LOL)…along with the Japanese room – her other “sanctuary”), Sukiyaki was a complicated creation – it is special as beef is expensive in Japan…after all, how are the cows going to (get to and) graze on islands with a lot of hills; fish was the common substitute at our dinner table – although I recall my mother was like the Hawaiians – courtesy of the military and WWII, SPAM played a central role in many of our meals. The one I could never appreciate was it’s inclusion in sushi, but I knew better than to ever tell my mother that I was never a huge fan of Spam dishes.
Bill Cosby had a profound influence on our family’s table offerings as well – Jello was a common staple for desert –my mother usually strained canned mixed fruit to remove the liquid, and mixed it in. If I ever got a little sassy (which was rare back then…yeah, I’ve changed…LOL) or complained about anything, my mother was quick to remind me of my Japanese heritage, that I needed to respect my elders…hai, okaasan (yes, mother)…gomen nasai (so sorry)…should have addressed you with respect…obasan (older woman). You had to be careful using obasan, kind of like mame or grandma in English – if they are borderline old, they will take offense to it’s use. Back in the day, my mother often referred to me a garbage disposal…not much was ever wasted in the Hedrick household. She was also quick to remind me of the hungry and starving in third-world countries. As you might imagine, I was pretty heavyset until I was thirteen or so (sigh). She would consider it an insult if I didn’t clean my plate, and expected me to act the same whenever we ate elsewhere. At home, if there was any leftovers on other dishes, guess which direction that plate went first, before it left the table – that’s right, me (LOL)…I just couldn’t say no to her offer(s).
My mother loved to watch television back in the day, particularly soap operas. Her primetime favorites…#1 Hawaii Five-O (she loved Jack Lord – book ‘em, Daniel); #2 The Wild, Wild, West; #3 I-Spy, #4 I Love Lucy, #5 The Dick Van Dyke Show (she loved him)…and of course the family always gathered in front of the big color TV in the living room on Sunday nights, back in the sixties; The Ed Sullivan Show, The Wonderful World of Disney…along with The Carol Burnett Show, The Smothers Brothers, and let’s not forget Red Skelton and the Lawrence Welk Show when we had to settle for black and white – they all made her laugh, she had a great sense of humor – later developed a love for Johnny Carson as well.
Getting back to the topic of food, one Japanese song comes to mind, that she loved when I was young – Sukiyaki by Kyu Sakamoto.
Funny thing though, it wasn’t until around 2012 that I found out the song was song by a male singer…my mother happened to be watching a PBS Japanese news channel (KCET – LA NHK World) that helped her connect with her homeland. When I was with her watching TV at the nursing home,a commercial came on selling a CD by Sakamoto…a video of him singing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C35DrtPlUbc) – boy was I surprised.LOL I could have sworn that was a woman’s voice…so sultry and sexy…dang…all of these years. Sukiyaki was one of my favorite Japanese dishes that my mom cooked, along with tempura.
Bill Cosby had a profound influence on our family’s table offerings as well – Jello was a common staple for desert –my mother usually strained canned mixed fruit to remove the liquid, and mixed it in. If I ever got a little sassy (which was rare back then…yeah, I’ve changed…LOL) or complained about anything, my mother was quick to remind me of my Japanese heritage, that I needed to respect my elders…hai, okaasan (yes, mother)…gomen nasai (so sorry)…should have addressed you with respect…obasan (older woman). You had to be careful using obasan, kind of like mame or grandma in English – if they are borderline old, they will take offense to it’s use. Back in the day, my mother often referred to me a garbage disposal…not much was ever wasted in the Hedrick household. She was also quick to remind me of the hungry and starving in third-world countries. As you might imagine, I was pretty heavyset until I was thirteen or so (sigh). She would consider it an insult if I didn’t clean my plate, and expected me to act the same whenever we ate elsewhere. At home, if there was any leftovers on other dishes, guess which direction that plate went first, before it left the table – that’s right, me (LOL)…I just couldn’t say no to her offer(s).
My mother loved to watch television back in the day, particularly soap operas. Her primetime favorites…#1 Hawaii Five-O (she loved Jack Lord – book ‘em, Daniel); #2 The Wild, Wild, West; #3 I-Spy, #4 I Love Lucy, #5 The Dick Van Dyke Show (she loved him)…and of course the family always gathered in front of the big color TV in the living room on Sunday nights, back in the sixties; The Ed Sullivan Show, The Wonderful World of Disney…along with The Carol Burnett Show, The Smothers Brothers, and let’s not forget Red Skelton and the Lawrence Welk Show when we had to settle for black and white – they all made her laugh, she had a great sense of humor – later developed a love for Johnny Carson as well.
Getting back to the topic of food, one Japanese song comes to mind, that she loved when I was young – Sukiyaki by Kyu Sakamoto.
Funny thing though, it wasn’t until around 2012 that I found out the song was song by a male singer…my mother happened to be watching a PBS Japanese news channel (KCET – LA NHK World) that helped her connect with her homeland. When I was with her watching TV at the nursing home,a commercial came on selling a CD by Sakamoto…a video of him singing (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C35DrtPlUbc) – boy was I surprised.LOL I could have sworn that was a woman’s voice…so sultry and sexy…dang…all of these years. Sukiyaki was one of my favorite Japanese dishes that my mom cooked, along with tempura.
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Japanese Traditions and My Mother's Cooking
My mother loved bright colored clothes, and embraced Japanese traditions whenever possible. I am tasked with making the arrangements decisions for the graveside funeral service, as I will be paying for them. The caregiver wanted a live entertainer, and I immediately said “no”…it will be a graveside service with what I expect will be a modest number of attendees – particularly given the fact my mother suffered from Alzheimer’s the past three years, and has been living in either a nursing home or senior-assisted living since 2000. Unfortunately she has lost touch with most of her Japanese friends, and many have passed on. It has been challenging searching for them, given that the last reliable information is 21 years old, and is just a postal address – the registry at Jimmy’s funeral.
The music will probably be a boom box; it will suffice. The same goes for the floral arrangements – just as it was with Jimmy – who specifically requested in his will “no flowers, whatever you do, no flowers”. I am guessing this kind of philosophy is instilled in many Japanese, part of their culture – it relates to different feelings with respect to traditions and to Buddha/Buddhism – whose guidance was to keep religious ceremonies simple. Think about it a little – my mother’s ritual to honor her father’s passing – was that in a church? No. The “institution” of the physical church is not as integral to worship with Buddhists; you don’t need to go visit one to pray, for instance – the custom is actually to do this in your home. This goes against the recruitment and business model of many modern Christian churches, and would have televangelists like Billy Graham saying, it’s okay if you worship from your home – just remember to send me your money (sigh).
When I was younger, she taught me Japanese along with English. I was bi-lingual when I was six years old, but I lost touch with the language when my stepfather Sam “put his foot down,” telling my mother no more Japanese in the house. It was a response to poorer grades I was receiving in English in first and second grades. There was one place where Japanese was still allowed – that was at the dinner table. It was understood that I would always say “Gochiso sama deshita” to thank her for a very nice/delicious dinner; Gochiso sama would do the trick for lunch or breakfast. Incidentally, while my grades in English did improve, it is kind of sad that I don’t know how to speak Japanese any more – I can still understand the basics, if spoken to.
My mother also made sure I remembered where I came from (my heritage), by decorating what we referred to as a Japanese room. Several doll cases, some exotic tapestries, a black dresser of sorts that could store valuables, and a sunken-down table just like the Japanese rooms at Miyako’s, the restaurant in San Diego where she worked when I was young. My stepfather Sam made that for her, formica red topped, with black legs that could be rotated outward to raise the table to American dining height, if needed.
My mother was also a great cook, perhaps something she picked up over the years from working as a waitress as long as she did…she taught me a few tricks as well – like substituting or using rice sake wine instead of oil when frying rice – she made a great Japanese-style Mexican fried rice. I will always be indebted to her for feeding me a lot of healthier dishes - lots of fish, soy products, vegetables, and rice; not so much red meat. Her favorite food as she grew older was sushi. I remember as a child that a “quickie” dish for me was never peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese – it was steamed white rice with raw egg and soy sauce.
The music will probably be a boom box; it will suffice. The same goes for the floral arrangements – just as it was with Jimmy – who specifically requested in his will “no flowers, whatever you do, no flowers”. I am guessing this kind of philosophy is instilled in many Japanese, part of their culture – it relates to different feelings with respect to traditions and to Buddha/Buddhism – whose guidance was to keep religious ceremonies simple. Think about it a little – my mother’s ritual to honor her father’s passing – was that in a church? No. The “institution” of the physical church is not as integral to worship with Buddhists; you don’t need to go visit one to pray, for instance – the custom is actually to do this in your home. This goes against the recruitment and business model of many modern Christian churches, and would have televangelists like Billy Graham saying, it’s okay if you worship from your home – just remember to send me your money (sigh).
When I was younger, she taught me Japanese along with English. I was bi-lingual when I was six years old, but I lost touch with the language when my stepfather Sam “put his foot down,” telling my mother no more Japanese in the house. It was a response to poorer grades I was receiving in English in first and second grades. There was one place where Japanese was still allowed – that was at the dinner table. It was understood that I would always say “Gochiso sama deshita” to thank her for a very nice/delicious dinner; Gochiso sama would do the trick for lunch or breakfast. Incidentally, while my grades in English did improve, it is kind of sad that I don’t know how to speak Japanese any more – I can still understand the basics, if spoken to.
My mother also made sure I remembered where I came from (my heritage), by decorating what we referred to as a Japanese room. Several doll cases, some exotic tapestries, a black dresser of sorts that could store valuables, and a sunken-down table just like the Japanese rooms at Miyako’s, the restaurant in San Diego where she worked when I was young. My stepfather Sam made that for her, formica red topped, with black legs that could be rotated outward to raise the table to American dining height, if needed.
My mother was also a great cook, perhaps something she picked up over the years from working as a waitress as long as she did…she taught me a few tricks as well – like substituting or using rice sake wine instead of oil when frying rice – she made a great Japanese-style Mexican fried rice. I will always be indebted to her for feeding me a lot of healthier dishes - lots of fish, soy products, vegetables, and rice; not so much red meat. Her favorite food as she grew older was sushi. I remember as a child that a “quickie” dish for me was never peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese – it was steamed white rice with raw egg and soy sauce.
Monday, November 2, 2015
My Mother the Buddhist
I am pretty confident in the assertion that my mother was originally a Buddhist when she came to America. While I don’t recall her ever visiting a Buddhist Temple for service, I fondly remember attending the various Buddhist festivals that my mother took me to when I was a child. When I was young and living in San Diego, I also recall her getting together with some of her Japanese friends on occasion, to honor my mother’s father.
One of these ceremonies or rituals is what I will refer to as Obon, the Bon Festival. There was a constructed worship area with the Japanese Buddha, pictures of departed relatives, a Buddhist chime bowl, and incense to either place inside the bowl or a separate holder. The aspects of these ceremonies I recall the most were the lighting of the incense (which my mother often let me do) and the leaving behind of food and beverage. After Jimmy passed, we returned to his graveside during the summer (I am guessing it was always August 15th after researching) and paid our respects, leaving food and water behind. When I asked my mother why, she told me this was for the spirit of Jimmy, allowing him to return and share food for that day. They had deliberately chosen a grave where the gravestone was set so that visitors would be looking westward – roughly in the direct of the far east/Japan. It was also in the direction of the Pacific Ocean. I remember her telling me this was important, because Jimmy’s spirit could easily return from the sea.
If one were to research Buddhist beliefs about death and re-birth, most feel that cremation is an acceptable practice, including my mother and Jimmy. Had they not purchased a plot at Green Hills Mortuary, it would have been acceptable for me to scatter her ashes at sea. Thankfully I did not need to make that decision, as the couple made arrangements to be buried together so their spirits could be together for eternity.
After checking the donations that were given at Jimmy’s funeral, I noticed that the matrons at the local Buddhist Temple in Gardena gave $35; this is a few blocks from where they lived, and I know my mother still visited there for the festivals in the 1990s when I moved in with them. The decision has been made to put words “soul mates forever” underneath, after adding my mother’s name to the gravestone at Green Hills. My mother’s graveside funeral service and interment ceremony has been scheduled for Wednesday November 18th at 11am. With any luck I will be returning to California to work this year, and I will make it a point to visit my mother and stepfather’s grave on Obon day and/or October 28th (the day she passed).
One of these ceremonies or rituals is what I will refer to as Obon, the Bon Festival. There was a constructed worship area with the Japanese Buddha, pictures of departed relatives, a Buddhist chime bowl, and incense to either place inside the bowl or a separate holder. The aspects of these ceremonies I recall the most were the lighting of the incense (which my mother often let me do) and the leaving behind of food and beverage. After Jimmy passed, we returned to his graveside during the summer (I am guessing it was always August 15th after researching) and paid our respects, leaving food and water behind. When I asked my mother why, she told me this was for the spirit of Jimmy, allowing him to return and share food for that day. They had deliberately chosen a grave where the gravestone was set so that visitors would be looking westward – roughly in the direct of the far east/Japan. It was also in the direction of the Pacific Ocean. I remember her telling me this was important, because Jimmy’s spirit could easily return from the sea.
If one were to research Buddhist beliefs about death and re-birth, most feel that cremation is an acceptable practice, including my mother and Jimmy. Had they not purchased a plot at Green Hills Mortuary, it would have been acceptable for me to scatter her ashes at sea. Thankfully I did not need to make that decision, as the couple made arrangements to be buried together so their spirits could be together for eternity.
After checking the donations that were given at Jimmy’s funeral, I noticed that the matrons at the local Buddhist Temple in Gardena gave $35; this is a few blocks from where they lived, and I know my mother still visited there for the festivals in the 1990s when I moved in with them. The decision has been made to put words “soul mates forever” underneath, after adding my mother’s name to the gravestone at Green Hills. My mother’s graveside funeral service and interment ceremony has been scheduled for Wednesday November 18th at 11am. With any luck I will be returning to California to work this year, and I will make it a point to visit my mother and stepfather’s grave on Obon day and/or October 28th (the day she passed).
Hey Jeff, meet Jimmy Kawasaki - 1978
I know exactly how long I knew Jimmy Kawasaki for good reason. You see, I was living in San Diego with my first stepfather Sam when I first met him in 1978. My mother had moved from San Diego to Gardena, a suburb of Los Angeles – my thinking was her decision was influenced by at least three mitigating factors: #1 she didn’t want to live in the same country with her ex-husband Sam, let alone the same city; #2 there was a significant Japanese population living in Gardena; #3 there were poker-house casinos in Gardena (one of my mother’s vices).
So we've taken the time machine back to 1978 and I’m in San Diego with my stepfather, when I get this call from my mother inviting me to drive up to Los Angeles for my birthday. I was working as an inspector for a medical electronics company, Ivac, at the time. This was the “good old days,” a time when companies were still giving their employees their birthday as a paid holiday. My birthday came on a Tuesday, and I was turning 21. She said she had something special planned, a trip to Vegas. Sounded fantastic, so I took Wednesday off as well, driving north to LA right after work Monday in anticipation of a two-day adventure…I know what some of you are thinking…what, only two days? But you have to understand…by that time in my life, I’d probably already gone to Las Vegas a dozen or more times, and a trip or two to Laughlin to boot (a city closer to the CA/NV border for those who can’t wait to gamble). Shhhhh, don't tell anyone...I gambled a little, broke the law by drinking before I before I turned 21 as well...having an adult with you made it easy to gamble without the casino questioning you. I had in fact made many trips before with my mother; that was one vice we shared.
My only question for her was why we didn’t just take the weekend Greyhound Bus? The bus offered this great deal where you could leave on Friday around midnight, driving there in the dark and arriving around 6am; you spend 24 hours in Vegas, and the return bus leaves on Sunday morning; cost of your ticket? $5. The catch? There really wasn’t one; it was supplemented by the downtown LV casino association, that’s where the bus dropped passengers off. The downtown establishments wanted people’s business/money – at the time the LV strip was asserting itself as the “place to be.” The other thing I have always shared with my mother was that neither of us was that sentimental with respect to holidays (and their significance as it relates to religion…again, another blog for this topic...it loosely relates to religion).
That Monday in Gardena my mother said to me, “Hey Jeff, meet Jimmy Kawasaki. He’s going to drive us to Las Vegas…it’s all right, isn’t it?” I liked Jimmy from the moment we met – he was smart, he owned a nice Cadillac sedan, he was a snappy dresser, and he knew how to have a good time. I could see why my mother liked him. Somewhere along the drive to Vegas the conversation turned to the ancillary reason for trip. Yes, we were going for my birthday, but my mother was planning on the proverbial “killing (of) two birds with one stone.” My mother and Jimmy were planning on getting married on my birthday. I have very fond memories of that trip, staying at the Tropicana Hotel on the strip, and being allowed to choose which show to attend (part of my birthday present). I went with a double header – Ben Vereen and Susan Anton. I figured that I might be able to “double my pleasure,” knowing that I couldn’t lose – after I saw the picture of Susan in the brochure – a stunningly gorgeous blond, a California girl touted as a singer/actress who I had to see in person. Okay, I know, it sounds a little shallow, but I was only 20 years old at the time. Blame the PR person who put together the brochure! As it turns out, Ben Vereen stole the show with his singing and tap dancing. After the show my mother and Jimmy were married at small Christian chapel (no, Elvis didn’t marry them); I was the witness. As far as the gambling goes, I believe we all lost in that respect. As for why/how I knew my mother would never re-marry after Jimmy passed; he was her soul mate, they did everything together. She often told me he was the one, that they would live the rest of their lives together. She also told me she didn’t know what she would do without him; her worst fear was Jimmy dying before her…which happened in 1994 – and then there were two – me and my mother (sigh).
So we've taken the time machine back to 1978 and I’m in San Diego with my stepfather, when I get this call from my mother inviting me to drive up to Los Angeles for my birthday. I was working as an inspector for a medical electronics company, Ivac, at the time. This was the “good old days,” a time when companies were still giving their employees their birthday as a paid holiday. My birthday came on a Tuesday, and I was turning 21. She said she had something special planned, a trip to Vegas. Sounded fantastic, so I took Wednesday off as well, driving north to LA right after work Monday in anticipation of a two-day adventure…I know what some of you are thinking…what, only two days? But you have to understand…by that time in my life, I’d probably already gone to Las Vegas a dozen or more times, and a trip or two to Laughlin to boot (a city closer to the CA/NV border for those who can’t wait to gamble). Shhhhh, don't tell anyone...I gambled a little, broke the law by drinking before I before I turned 21 as well...having an adult with you made it easy to gamble without the casino questioning you. I had in fact made many trips before with my mother; that was one vice we shared.
My only question for her was why we didn’t just take the weekend Greyhound Bus? The bus offered this great deal where you could leave on Friday around midnight, driving there in the dark and arriving around 6am; you spend 24 hours in Vegas, and the return bus leaves on Sunday morning; cost of your ticket? $5. The catch? There really wasn’t one; it was supplemented by the downtown LV casino association, that’s where the bus dropped passengers off. The downtown establishments wanted people’s business/money – at the time the LV strip was asserting itself as the “place to be.” The other thing I have always shared with my mother was that neither of us was that sentimental with respect to holidays (and their significance as it relates to religion…again, another blog for this topic...it loosely relates to religion).
That Monday in Gardena my mother said to me, “Hey Jeff, meet Jimmy Kawasaki. He’s going to drive us to Las Vegas…it’s all right, isn’t it?” I liked Jimmy from the moment we met – he was smart, he owned a nice Cadillac sedan, he was a snappy dresser, and he knew how to have a good time. I could see why my mother liked him. Somewhere along the drive to Vegas the conversation turned to the ancillary reason for trip. Yes, we were going for my birthday, but my mother was planning on the proverbial “killing (of) two birds with one stone.” My mother and Jimmy were planning on getting married on my birthday. I have very fond memories of that trip, staying at the Tropicana Hotel on the strip, and being allowed to choose which show to attend (part of my birthday present). I went with a double header – Ben Vereen and Susan Anton. I figured that I might be able to “double my pleasure,” knowing that I couldn’t lose – after I saw the picture of Susan in the brochure – a stunningly gorgeous blond, a California girl touted as a singer/actress who I had to see in person. Okay, I know, it sounds a little shallow, but I was only 20 years old at the time. Blame the PR person who put together the brochure! As it turns out, Ben Vereen stole the show with his singing and tap dancing. After the show my mother and Jimmy were married at small Christian chapel (no, Elvis didn’t marry them); I was the witness. As far as the gambling goes, I believe we all lost in that respect. As for why/how I knew my mother would never re-marry after Jimmy passed; he was her soul mate, they did everything together. She often told me he was the one, that they would live the rest of their lives together. She also told me she didn’t know what she would do without him; her worst fear was Jimmy dying before her…which happened in 1994 – and then there were two – me and my mother (sigh).
Sunday, November 1, 2015
The Hedrick Family
Right now I may be the “last man standing” in the Hedrick family...I am uncertain as to how many of my step-relatives are still alive. I am an only child from a family that has literally died…my naturally father Roy Clarke in 1962 (I think), my first stepfather Sam Hedrick in 1991, my second stepfather Jimmy Kawasaki in
1994, and my mother in 2015. Remember when I said that mother know best? My mother and my natural father Roy divorced when I was two, and I have no recollection of him accordingly. It wasn't until I did some research on him that I discovered that he died in 1962 when I was four...right around the time my mother married Sam. He committed suicide, had evidently been in a navy psychiatric ward, and he shot himself with a pistol. My suspicion is that she was protecting me from this. My first stepfather Sam died in 1991 of lung cancer, and Jimmy died of prostrate cancer.
Living Alone In Alabama
I have been living in Alabama for nine years now and have acquired many friends there. When I first shared the news of my mother’s passing on Facebook the evening after her passing, most of all of those who commented to the posting left a salutation that included “praying for you and your family”…the only legal family I ever had as an only child was my mother and the three fathers she married. I really didn’t have the heart or propensity to share the fact that I currently have no family (that I am aware of) left in the United States. I suspect that I have an aunt or two left in Japan, and I know I have cousins and nieces there. Two of my nieces visited Los Angeles in the late 1990s, and I remember how much they enjoyed it when I snuck them into a karaoke bar (they were 14 and 15). Other than that, nada. My current friends have encouraged me to explore my family tree, to take a closer look, and I will share my findings later in a different blogpost. Before that let’s address my mother's last relationship and my second stepfather Jimmy.
Living Alone In Alabama
I have been living in Alabama for nine years now and have acquired many friends there. When I first shared the news of my mother’s passing on Facebook the evening after her passing, most of all of those who commented to the posting left a salutation that included “praying for you and your family”…the only legal family I ever had as an only child was my mother and the three fathers she married. I really didn’t have the heart or propensity to share the fact that I currently have no family (that I am aware of) left in the United States. I suspect that I have an aunt or two left in Japan, and I know I have cousins and nieces there. Two of my nieces visited Los Angeles in the late 1990s, and I remember how much they enjoyed it when I snuck them into a karaoke bar (they were 14 and 15). Other than that, nada. My current friends have encouraged me to explore my family tree, to take a closer look, and I will share my findings later in a different blogpost. Before that let’s address my mother's last relationship and my second stepfather Jimmy.
Friday, October 30, 2015
My Mother's Relationships - the Sweet and Simple.
I am conflicted or have mixed feelings, with respect to where to begin - I don't want this to have the flow of a Quentin Tarantino movie, but I feel that the "rough cut" the - unedited version that this blog represents, will probably seem that way. My mother was born in 1935 in Yokosuke, Japan; I don't know the particulars as to how she met my natural father; he was in the US Navy, stationed overseas some time around 1956 or so. I am assuming they fell in love; he married her and brought her to San Diego to live in housing near the S.D. naval base. I know this because I was born in the Balboa Navy Hospital; this makes me a "navy brat" and a U.S. citizen. My mother was always very secretive with respect to my natural father; I learned later in life that she was (kind of) protecting me from knowing the truth; one of her many proclivities - what do they say though? - mother always knows best. My first stepfather was the one who raised me, and my second father came into my life when I was 21 years old. I was never a part of a classic "All-American family" for good reason - my mother was Japanese - her first two love interests were American - both served in the military; the third and last, he was Japanese and WWII had a profound effect on his upbringing.
My mother was not very good at extended relationships initially, if you look at her "track record": the first lasted 3-4 years; the second 8 good years and 4 years in hell; the third almost 16 years. I never, ever, judged her with respect to her love choices - I know in my heart that she loved all of them dearly - particularly my second stepfather (Jimmy Kawasaki)...what do they say? - the third time's the charm - he was her soulmate. I say this because after his departure the last 21 years of her life were not the same...I knew she was never going to marry again.
My mother was not very good at extended relationships initially, if you look at her "track record": the first lasted 3-4 years; the second 8 good years and 4 years in hell; the third almost 16 years. I never, ever, judged her with respect to her love choices - I know in my heart that she loved all of them dearly - particularly my second stepfather (Jimmy Kawasaki)...what do they say? - the third time's the charm - he was her soulmate. I say this because after his departure the last 21 years of her life were not the same...I knew she was never going to marry again.
Remembering My Mother
I am feeling the need to express and share my feelings about the loss of my mother in a digital manner this time - something new for me, as my previous (family) loss(es) were all in the pre-social media era; I will identify this era as really coming to fruition (for myself, in my estimation), around 2004 or 2005 (launch of Facebook). This blog will (hopefully) serve the purpose of affording those that want to know more about Mitsue and her life the opportunity to do so - culturally it will be a learning experience (you have to take my word for now).
My mother is serving as the "muse" or inspiration for this blog. She passed in the late night hours Wednesday October 28, 2015 in Torrance, California. I am not going to go into the medical details with respect to cause of death, because (for now) I don't now the exact cause and I feel it doesn't really matter (will explain in a later blog post). My mother lived her life on her own terms, was always a caring, supportive, giving person to others, there for them in their time of need. She had just turned 80 years old. It took me many years to appreciate her unselfish treatment of others, as well as her "quirky" devotion to the few vices she loved. I have included what is (arguably) the best photo I have of her in this initial post. It was taken during her last airplane trip in 2005, when I flew her to Bowling Green for my BGSU commencement; it was when I received my doctorate, and many BGSU'ers commented that they remember meeting her then. May she rest in peace - Mitsue Hedrick Kawasaki (1935-2015).
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