My Father

Today my father would have been 85. That is if he hadn't had a massive heart attack 8 years ago. He died before he reached the hospital. Five days short of his 77th birthday.

My Dad was a tough man. He was intense. He defined strong willed and stubborn. He was a fierce competitor. He was opinionated and always right. Arguing with him was an exercise in frustration.

He was also very loyal. He loved to tease. His laugh was deep and his eyes sparkled.

My Dad lived a hard life. Second son of a widowed first generation Japanese woman, in a culture that valued only the first born son. He was uprooted in his senior year of high school and relocated to the Manzanar Relocation Center, in the central valley. Because of this he was in his 70's before he actually received his high school diploma. He was a commercial fisherman, a beet farmer, a small business owner, and a food workers union member for 30 years.

He worked on his feet 6 and sometimes 7 days a week. He woke up at 3 am every day to go to the produce market and buy for his produce store. Then he worked a full day in the store. Some of my clearest memories of my father are of him sleeping. Poor man, he needed it. He would fall asleep in his recliner and snore so loudly I couldn't hear myself think.

My Mom was a true stay at home mom, and my father was the true bread winner. She cooked and cleaned and took care of me, and my father worked, and worked.

On weekends, my Dad would go to the market in the morning, and then come home early and we'd watch sports together. I think I was 5 when I learned the difference between an nickel and a dime package. I get my love, my obsession for sports from my father. He was an athlete. He played baseball, and he was really good. (from what I hear) He once bowled a 300. he was a fan. We went to Dodger Games, Laker games, and Rams games for my birthday. He was my biggest fan when I became an athlete. He was also the first to tell me I sucked too.

He was hard on me. If I got an A minus, he wanted to know why it wasn't an A. If I shaved 2 seconds off my best time, he wanted to know why that other girl beat me. He pushed me. I think he wanted me to be the very best I could be, and he wasn't going to sugar coat it. I know he was proud of me because, I heard it from his friends. They'd say, "Oh, your Dad tells me you are a great student, or a fast swimmer, or that you got this honor or did this great thing." But from him, the praise was not so forthcoming, there was always a but. "you did great, but..."

Even though both of my parents, and most of my relatives only had a high school education, I never doubted I would go to college. It was always assumed, in a way that generations of college graduates expect the next generation to do the same. Looking back I think a lot of that was my Dad. I remember him telling me when I was very young, that I had to go to college so I didn't have to work as hard as he had all his life. That's why he pushed me so hard. He truly wanted me to have a better life.

He taught me the value of a good day's work. To be proud of your work what ever it is that you do. He taught me to do your best, work hard, do what you say you are going to do and to never settle. He forced me to push myself. For better or worse, good was never good enough, he taught me to want to be the best.

Although he was tough on me, from day one, I was the apple of his eye.

I was adopted, and my parents traveled to Japan to adopt me. The first day we met, as the legend my mother tells goes, I grasped his finger so tightly my Dad knew I was the one. I picked him, I wouldn't let go.

I remember as a little girl my Dad would sing to me, and dance with me. He had a very deep, rich voice, and he loved to sing Elvis, Neil Diamond, Andy Williams and Frank Sinatra to me. He also love to torment me with the Japanese songs he would learn by taping them from the Sunday morning Japanese music show and playing them over and over until he knew all of the words. (funny, I was doing that in the other room with Casey Kasem and America's Top 40!)

One of my favorite memories of my Dad, is our father/daughter dance and my wedding. We did this crazy Jitterbug. I don't know how to Jitterbug, save for a few moves. My Dad, led me, threw me, and my dress, around the dance floor. It was a blast.

There are a few things I regret my father wasn't alive to see.

One, was my return to competitive athletics. We had just started playing Kayak Polo in 2001, I had no idea what would come of this fun little game. By 2002 I had gone from a very casual player to a semi-serious player. By October of 2002, I was a serious player vying for a spot on the U.S. National team. I had a goal. The 2004 world championships were scheduled to be in Japan. I wanted to go. I've always wanted to go to Japan, and this was the perfect opportunity to get myself there.

I worked hard, trained full time for a whole year, made the team and went to Japan. My Daddy would have been so proud of me.

The second, and I'm sure the most obvious...I wish he got to meet my boys, and they him. He would have loved their spirits, their fiery personalities, their fight. I've always wanted my kids to have Japanese middle names for as long as I can remember, so when it came time Ryan received my Dad's name, and Evan, the male derivation of my Mom's middle name. While I sat in the NICU willing my boys to breathe, I hoped that my Father's fighting spirit would give my babies the strength to live.

My Dad would have been a fantastic Grandpa. That soft side that lurked beneath is tough exterior would have oozed out all over Ryan and Evan. They would have loved him.

There hasn't been a day in the last eight years that I haven't thought about my Dad. Every day for the last three plus years, I wish he was still here.

My Mom has all the family pictures at her house, but I found a few of my Mom, Dad and Grandma.

In this one I love the expression on my Mom's face. She is clearly over vacationing with my Grandma. This is circa 1954, she was 25 and I think my Grandma would have been in her 50's.


I love these two pictures of my parents at the beach, taken in 1958. My Dad was 34.
There's one more from this era that I wish I could find tonight, My Mom and Dad are sitting on a stoop in front of a red door, they look so, so young and happy and so 50's.

This is my first day of preschool. Taken in 1972. I was 4, my Dad was 48.


I miss my Daddy, today, more than other days, I wish he could still be here, in Ryan and Evan's lives. In my life.