Blog Post: Pioneer
Don’t overlook the quiet Japanese lady at the fringe of the crowd. She has strength beyond measure and a calling that sent her across the world to fulfill. Orphaned at a young age in Japan, my mother worked for owners of a Chinese restaurant. Though it was a difficult apprenticeship, she learned her cooking skills there and came away with a few key recipes that would later impact her and everyone around her.
Her life at this time was marked with a steady stream of loss. As the last straw, her first husband died right around the time my sister was born. Grief-stricken, poor and out of options, my mom became a member of the Buddhist organization, SGI, and prayed for a father for her little girl. The pulse of her life quickened from there. She met my dad, an American Navy boy, and they eventually made plans to come to the U.S. and marry. And just like that she moved across the world, leaving behind a country that she equated with tragedy and pain.
Years passed and we wound up in the middle of Suburbia, where we were considered the “ethnic” family and curiosity of the neighborhood. My mom’s shyness and broken English made it challenging for her to adapt to suburban life, but her conviction surprised us again and again. When I was little, my mom joined a bowling league with the neighbor ladies, tossing gutter balls in the name of expanding her social circle. She went to night school for a year and earned her U.S. citizenship. And against all odds, she got her driver’s license in our mammoth ‘72 Dodge van. (At the end of the harrowing driving test, the instructor said something to the effect of, “Lady, I have no idea why, but I’m passing you. Congratulations.”)
Food service has remained a constant theme in her life here in the U.S. In the early 80s, she landed a job at a local high school as one of the lunch ladies. She manned the hot dog and hamburger line, making many young friends as she’d sneak larger servings of fries onto their plates. My mother worked at Chi-Chi’s for a spell, too. And to this day, family gatherings and SGI district meetings aren’t complete without a tray of her famous gyoza (pot stickers), fried rice or shrimp tempura.
My mom told me recently that gyoza is her life’s mission. It might sound silly, but it’s true. She learned early in life that people gather around good food, and that when that happens, barriers crumble and dialogue opens. She’s been known to invite people of diverse backgrounds to her house to discuss worldly matters and peace over tea and Japanese delicacies. I’ve witnessed many of these intimate discussions that would sometimes reunite feuding friends or people with sharply opposing viewpoints.
Her painful youth forged her into a strong woman whose desire is to help others and make them happy. And she doesn’t have to say a word; her smile reflects compassion, strength and joy. My mom’s contribution is valuable and profoundly memorable. Come to her house for a tasting, and you’ll know exactly what I mean.