under the rim interlude

Had the pleasure of playing in a J-Sei fundraiser (a.k.a. FUN-raiser), Under the Rim and Over the Hill, a 3-on-3 basketball tournament for hoopsters over 40. I had managed to cobble together a team of myself, my husband, Big Dave, and Mike Yoshii, also known as The Rev (because he is actually a reverend for the Buena Vista United Methodist Church). I had never played with Dave before, unless you count when he and my husband coached our daughters, and we all used to scrimmage them when the girls were all still shorter than me.

Mike Yoshii, however, I had met back in the day when my husband and I used to play at the Oakland JCC with the Asian Law Caucus pick-up game. You could tell Mike was a baller, even when he was just standing on the sidelines bouncing the ball. Since then, he’s survived a heart attack while playing basketball (props out to Deanna at the gym who gave him CPR until the EMTs arrived) and continues to preach and play ball.

As I sat there watching him play in one of the Under the Rim games, I caught a glimpse of him where everything just slowed down, as if I were watching him frame-by-frame. Top of the key, executing his signature stutter step, weight-shifting magic, the ball bouncing up and spinning in his palm, not knowing which way The Rev was going to take it as he blew by the competition. Basketball poetry in motion.

Amen.

furusato

This past year has been one of reflection. Time passes, as do friends and loved ones. Change is inevitable. My children have outgrown me, literally, standing taller than me now. Evidence in the face of my denial.

In spite of change -- or maybe because of it -- there is a place in my heart that I retain and nurture for my furusato: Gardena, in the South Bay area of L.A. Even though I have not lived there for more than a summer since I left high school, I still refer to it as “home.”

furusato

The place where I felt completely normal and average
not a model of anything, and certainly not a minority

Where I walked to school with a couple friends
across the railroad tracks on Normandie
hoping there wouldn’t be a train
when we were only six years old

Where I learned to play basketball in my backyard
and played tennis and rollerskated
on the smooth concrete of South Park
back in the day when the courts were new
and we all wore Dittos and rainbow pocket jeans

Where our club basketball team roster read
Ageno
Endo
Jung
Mochizuki
Monuki
Oyama
Sialana
Shiota
Tabata
Watanabe
and it was unusual because there were two names that were not Japanese

Where bento was something you took to school
not something you ordered at a restaurant
and nobody crinkled their nose and said "What's that?"
when you pulled out a rice ball for lunch

Where we knew what sushi was before it became trendy
Ordered from Sakae Sushi by the box
always wrapped in white paper and tied with a red string
Happy to play Uncle Min jan-ken-po (not ro sham bo)
for that last piece of ebi
I liked the saba better, but liked seeing Uncle smile
as we faced off
and I somehow won again 

Where I can still speak Japanese today
in one of the handful of Japanese grocery stores
and people are confused by my looks --
  What self-respecting Japanese woman lets her hair go grey?
  and what’s up with all the age spots
  (surely she knows there is no such thing as a “shimi-bijin”)?

Where my mom still has her yarn shop
a few doors down from the manju place
and you can still go to the Buddhist Church carnival to get
buttered corn on the cob
Okinawa dango
udon
teriyaki
and
of course
tamales

Where I was lucky enough to gather with friends and family
to celebrate the new year and years past
Sharing a moment with some who have changed my diapers
and others who I’ve “only” known since kindergarten or junior high

All of whom shared a time in their lives
when they called this place “home,” too

Time and distance have separated us
but we still share this space
that has shaped us in some way
Our furusato

As I lunge headfirst into this new year and one of my milestone birthdays, I’ll say a toast to all of you who’ve made my life what it is today -- Gardena homies and non-homies, alike. With appreciation and gratitude to you all, but especially to my better-half, who orchestrated my early surprise birthday celebration -- here’s to many more memories, and more milestones to come.

And ... happy birthday to all of my classmates who are hitting that milestone this year, too!

ojiichan and gung gung

I found out on Facebook.  In response to my post on paper sons, my sister-in-law commented:  

I interviewed my maternal grandfather many years ago while writing a family history paper for school. He was a paper son. His paper "Dad" was from the same Woo village so at least he was able to keep his family name. I can assure you that he was in no way open and willing to tell me much about his immigration experience. Much of the information that I got about the paper son business was hearsay from my mom. Maybe it's the later generations who talk about it openly but the actual paper sons, not so much.

 What?!!! I had gone with a twenty-plus person contingent of Woo family members to the village in China, and nobody spoke about the fact that he was a paper son during or after the visit. Apparently, there was a written family history that was passed around the bus, but I didn't read it (I get motion sickness when I read in a bus), and apparently, neither did my husband. I wish we had known before we went to Angel Island -- it would have made for a very different experience for my kids, and their classmates. I guess this was not exactly a family "secret," but -- like the story of my own grandfather -- it was not something spoken about very often.

I guess I will have to come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn't have heard about this if I hadn't posted something about paper sons on Facebook, but it's all good. I learned that my children have great-grandfathers on both sides of their family who illegally immigrated to America: my ojiichan, and their father's gung gung. I'm glad I can share this family history with my children, so they can process the current immigration debate through the lens of our own personal history. In outing my ojiichan as somebody who immigrated illegally, I'm hoping we can look back without shame, and recognize the validity of each person's journey. The story of the paper sons has taught us that we can celebrate this -- whether the immigration path was legal, illegal, or somewhere in between. Once our ancestors started their lives here, we became part of the American story. We are all a part of American history.

Linsanity

What do I think about Jeremy Lin's recent success playing for the New York Knicks? Thanks for asking ...

In a word: historic. I grew up playing basketball in the Japanese American leagues in LA, with the Gardena FOR Supersonics, where (at a very average 5' almost-2") I got to play all positions, including my favorite -- center. I seriously thought all Japanese American girls had leagues like this, and that most Japanese American girls played basketball (since that's what it was like in the world of Gardena). I thought that I would someday grow up to play with Bill Walton for the UCLA Bruins. Of course, that didn't happen, but when I did go to college, I went up to the Fifth Floor of Payne-Whitney and ran in pick-up games with all the Asian American ballers. I witnessed the graceful defense of Alex Te, the lithe and lanky Larry Ng posting up on the very sturdy Ben Sun, the signature snake-like drive-to-the-hoop of Vernon Wong, the rebounding hops of Michael Chai, and the yes-I-am-a-badass strut of Glenn Tokumaru, running the point and just about everything else on the court. Yes, those were the days. The glory days of AASA hoops. (Okay, maybe the glory days happened before or after I was there, but I am going to remember them that way, regardless.)

Our games were peppered with exclamations of "Doctor J!" or "A-keeeeem!" -- or any number of dubious and wishful comparisons. Now, I am guessing, there will be more than a few shouts of "JEREMY LIN!!!"

I was, literally, moved to tears when I saw the highlights of Jeremy Lin's first winning game with the Knicks. Yes, I cried. Laugh if you want to, but I know I'm not alone. In addition to him playing so well, he has also carried himself with such humility -- in a league where egomaniacs rule, it is so incredibly refreshing. I think this is a huge part of his appeal.

The only part of the Linsanity that has been uncomfortable is the inevitable race-based signage -- slanty-eyed caricatures, "who says Asians can't drive?", "Yellow Mamba" (in response to Kobe, the apparently self-proclaimed Black Mamba), "Asians love MSG" -- some of which has been created by Asian Americans, which I don't quite get, but I have chosen not to get all worked up about that since I would rather enjoy this Lincredible moment in basketball history.

I hope this is not the end of Jeremy Lin's run, but even if it is -- J.Lin has made history, and I think we will see a greater openness to Asian American basketball players in the future. Any AA ballers who are coming up now can thank J.Lin for being a pioneering force.

My husband is getting annoyed with me, calling me names like "Jeremaniac" and telling me I've gone "Linsane."

I plan to get him an NBA League Pass for Valentine's Day ;-)