The Daikon King
By Bruce Kamei
Takeshi Tsukemoto finished rotating the Daikon on the display stand prior to Ohana Japanese Market opening when he noticed the owner, Sadao Mori, escorting five raccoons into the back office. They weren’t really raccoons, but their black plastic frame glasses reminded him of raccoons. They all wore dark suits, white shirts, black ties, and wore the same company lapel pin. Takeshi immediately knew they were corporate Japanese executives.
Customers of Ohana Japanese Market affectionally referred to Takeshi Tsukemoto as the Daikon King. A daikon is a white Japanese radish that can grow three inches wide and thirteen inches long. Takehsi convinced the owner, Sadao Mori, after working there for a year to keep the leaves on, unlike the other two Japanese markets nearby. The Japanese from Japan and older Japanese Americans used the leaves for other cooking purposes. Takeshi was unofficially in charge of all the produce and the ordering.
All of the produce at Ohana was organic, from local farmers. Those growers had been providing the produce for fifty years, ever since Ohana first opened. No produce had any wilted leaves or scratches. The negi (green onions), nasi (Asian pear), kuri (Japanese cucumbers), nasu (Japanese eggplant), and others were plump and green unlike the other two nearby Japanese markets. Takeshi made sure that every Ohana produce sold was perfect.
Three times a year, Sadao let Takeshi demonstrate to customers different ways to use daikon: pickled daikon, slivers of daikon in miso soup, in a hot pot, grated over tofu, and at least eight other ways. He gave four presentations a day, two in English and two in Japanese. He always drew large crowds. The Japanese from Japan and even Japanese Americans were surprised that a third-generation Japanese American man knew how to cook, especially a daikon.
Customers would come to Ohana just for the produce. Ohana cornered the market for produce while the other Japanese market, Sakura, cornered the market for meat, and Ichiban cornered the market for sea food.
Takeshi had worked at Ohana for almost eight years, starting as a clerk. He remained at Ohana even after graduating with a Master of Business Administration in marketing. Sadao Mori, the owner, gave even the part-time employees tuition assistance, profit sharing, flexible schedules, a 401K plan, retirement, and health benefits. Sadao also paid the employees three times the salary of other major unionized markets. The employees, like Takeshi, who had a working knowledge of Japanese, were given slightly higher pay. Nine employees who had been at Ohana since the beginning were paid a much greater amount. Sadao even gave summer and winter bonuses, just like he read about Japanese companies. Life was good, life was smooth, no worries.
Takeshi would inspect the produce every two days. Those two days past their prime would be taken off the stands. The Japanese produce would be donated to two Japanese retirement homes nearby. Even the non-produce would be pulled off the shelves one week before the “best used by” date. The Japanese items went to the retirement homes, and the non-Japanese items given to local food banks. Takeshi initiated those practices years ago, including delivery service, since a significant number of customers were elderly.
Takeshi enjoyed taking the food to the seniors’ homes. It made him feel like he was giving back to the community, a sense of accomplishment he could not feel sitting behind a desk. He delivered the items early morning or late evening when he wasn’t even paid; he didn’t care. Sadao always said one’s life can only be fulfilled if you contribute for a better society.
Sadao escorted the raccoons out at about five in the afternoon.
Takeshi approached Sadao. “Who were those guys? They’re from a Japanese company, aren’t they?”
“Yes. They wanted to know how Ohana has a six percent profit margin when even major markets have a one to two percent margin.”
Something about the way he was looking down. “I’ve known you for almost eight years. I can tell something is wrong,” said Takeshi.
“Nothing is wrong,” said Sadao, walking away. Sadao stopped walking and headed back to Takeshi. “I know I’ve suggested to you many times that perhaps you should go to a place with more opportunities.”
“I love what I’m doing now,” said Takeshi.
“With your background and education, you’ll be a great fit at a bigger company. Please think about it.”
Two months later, the raccoons came back. This time, they were accompanied by three other men. Takeshi knew they were not from the same company since they wore different colored suits. Were they lawyers, thought Takeshi, since they carried lawyers’ briefcases? They went onto the Sadao’s office.
Takeshi approached Daisuke Nomura, who was stocking seaweed. Daisuke was in his mid-seventies and had been at Ohana since it opened fifty years ago. Daisuke and Sadao grew up together in Fresno, but when the war began, they were incarcerated in a Japanese internment camp. Later, during their incarceration, they volunteered for the 442nd Infantry Regiment, the most decorated in United States military history. The 442nd also had the most casualties. Sadao, Daisuke, and eight others older employees who served together in the 442nd were very close. “What’s going on here?” Takeshi asked. “Those guys were back here two months ago.”
“Tak, isn’t about time you moved on?” said Daisuke, arranging the seaweed packets.
“Why? I like what I’m doing.” In the last two months, at least five other employees who worked from the beginning had told him something similar.
“Don’t be like me. Seventy years old and stocking nori. Tak, you’re stagnant here. You have two degrees. You’ve been here almost eight years. Don’t be so complacent about your future.”
“You sound just like my father! While I was living with him, he always said working at small Japanese market will lead nowhere. He constantly told to me work for a big company. Why haven’t you gone somewhere else?” asked Takeshi. “Why are you criticizing me when you did the same thing?” asked Takeshi raising his voice. “You and the others keep saying that to me after the raccoons showed up. I’m really tired of it!” said Takeshi.
“Because I couldn’t go anywhere else,” said Daisuke, in a louder tone. “Let me tell you something! I don’t tell this to many and the others who been here since the beginning don’t talk about it too since it still hurts too much, but I respect you too much not to tell you. After the war, I’m in my Army uniform with sergeant’s stripes, my two Purple Hearts, and three rows of ribbons. I entered a barber shop, and the owner said he shaves Japs. I was told by other people that I might sneak attack their businesses or do a Kamikaze attack. We were stripped of our lands, any self-esteem, and pride were torn from us, and we got treated like shit after serving this country. I was so grateful that Sadao gave me this job. He started this place since others wouldn’t hire Japanese!”
“Why didn’t you go back to school? You got the GI Bill.”
Daisuke started to laugh. “Tak, my parents’ land was taken away from us. We had no money, let alone money to go to school. I had to work to help my parents and siblings. Sadao’s parents were lucky. A family friend, a Caucasian, bought their land for a dollar and later returned it after the war. Unlike you, I was stuck. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”
“I’m sorry I raised my voice,” Takeshi.
“Get a job with a company that has a future!”
Takeshi knew Daisuke and the others knew something.
The raccoons were at the store for weeks at a time now. Takeshi was helping an elderly woman take her bags to her car.
Takeshi heard someone yelling, “No more delivery!” in broken English to Cory, who was loading deliveries for shut ins.
A raccoon kept repeating, “No more delivery!”
Takeshi went over. “What’s going on here?” asked Takeshi in English. “Cory doesn’t understand Japanese. Why are you yelling?”
“No more delivery. Too much cost!” said the raccoon.
“Who are you?” asked Takeshi.
“Manager Noguchi of Japan Market Corporation! Your superior! You speak Japanese?”
“Chisai,” said Takeshi. Chisai meant small; it should have been Sukoshi, meaning little bit. Takeshi was not about to let this raccoon know he could speak fluent Japanese.
“You refer me Manager Noguchi or Noguchi-san! You understand?”
“No. I don’t!” said Takeshi. “Take off, Cory.” Takeshi went back into the store with the raccoon yelling behind him.
Sadao ran out of the office and asked Takeshi what happened. Sadao led the raccoon into the back office. Takeshi then heard Sadao yelling in Japanese, “I still own the store!”
Later, Takeshi approached Sadao. “Why are you selling the store?”
“Fifty years is too long.”
“Did you sell it to those Japanese from Japan?”
“Yes,” said Sadao.
“Why didn’t you sell it to another Japanese American?”
“They made a great offer, all cash.”
“When will the actual transition take place?” asked Takeshi.
“All of the paperwork isn’t done. When it is, I intend to tell everyone a month prior,” said Sadao.
Four weeks later, Sadao announced he was selling Ohana. The store was being sold to Japan Market Corporation. At the announcement, Sadao said JMC would not be changing practices too much. Sadao, however, said the JMC was concerned about the generous benefits and pay. Japanese corporate people were different and didn’t trust them, Sadao said. He suggested, only as a precaution, to cash in their 401K and profit sharing. He will process the paperwork and will not sign off the store until everyone’s finances were cashed in.
As an undergraduate and graduate student, Takeshi was intrigued and researched Japanese company practices. He really liked the lifelong employment and strong importance of seniority. He knew Japanese companies required long hours and little vacation time, but Takeshi wouldn’t mind. One feature he did like was that Japanese embrace a group mentality but did not like getting a superior’s superiors for approval before making decisions. After he graduated, he applied to five Japanese companies. He was interviewed by three that didn’t hire him, saying he wasn’t Japanese enough. Takeshi still wondered what that meant.
On the first day of JMC taking over, there was an all-hands meeting. Five raccoons sat on chairs on a makeshift stage higher than the floor level.
A raccoon stood up. “I Yoichi Ikuta. General manager. You refer to me as Manager Ikuta or Ikuta-san! “You understand! You refer to Managers Noguchi, Nomura, Denzo, and Abe the same. You understand!”
Jerry, another employee, had an apple in his hand and pretended to throw it at the head raccoon.
“JMC Japanese company. We do Japanese way,” said Ikuta.
Takeshi interrupted. “This isn’t Japan. This place runs smoothly as it is. Why change it?”
“Japanese way is best. You no like, quit. Big change coming. Get back work!”
“I want to beat the shit out of those punks,” said Daisuke.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s not that bad, just doesn’t know how to talk to non-Japanese.”
“Japanese from Japan can be assholes,” said Daisuke.
“Look,” said Takeshi. “I was partially raised there. I know they really care about their employees.”
“You were there when you were young, really young. How would you know?”
Takeshi couldn’t answer.
A week later, Jenny came out of the raccoons’ office, crying.
“What happened?” asked Takeshi.
“Those bastards told me part of my job was to serve them tea in the morning. Not doing it and told them so. Then they told me that if I didn’t do that, I’ll be sweeping the parking lot, retrieving carts, and all shit jobs around here. I told them that I’m an assistant manager here, and they said not anymore.”
Takeshi did remember that Japanese companies in the past had women employees serve tea to high level male executives but did not think that happened now. “Thought about going to another place?”
“But I need this job for the pay, especially the benefits. I’m a single mother with a ten-year-old with challenges,” said Jenny. “You know how these bastards think. Why are they doing this? Oh, hear that Naomi quit this morning? They told her she had to stand in front of the door and bow to welcome customers for eight hours a day. She’s fifty-eight years old and been here thirty years. She’ll need back surgery in a week. What kind of shit is that? When she refused, they told her new job will be cleaning the toilets at least ten times a day. You speak Japanese. Go in and tell them this is America!”
“Women serving tea to males still happens in Japanese companies,” said Takeshi. He immediately regretted saying that.
“You’re as bad as them. Thought you’re a friend. Why aren’t you wearing a black suit?” Jenny said and walked away, flipping Takeshi off.
Over the next two weeks, the raccoons made several changes. Calisthenics in the morning. The raccoons played the music used in morning calisthenics in Japanese parks, known as rajio taiso. Employees were ordered to bow when entering and leaving the store as well as entering and leaving the back offices. Assignment of duties were now delegated to a manager.
Takeshi approached Noguchi and bowed. “Why did you get rid of the deliveries?”
“Too much money. Not enough profit, said Noguchi.”
“But Noguchi-san, delivery, especially to the elderly and shut ins, was great public relations. Sure, we have to spend more time with them, but it’s great community service. Almost all of those customers have been loyal to us for years.”
“We not social work. We make profit. Next week, no more free food to old people house or charity,” said Noguchi.
“You can’t do that! They depend on us!” said Takeshi.
“Not JMC problem!”
“We have to support our community. It’s not right. We can’t just suddenly abandon them. Ohana has been doing this for nearly fifty years,” said Takeshi.
“Ohana yes, not JMC!”
“What are you going to do with those products?” asked Takehi.
“Sell until no good. Sell other real cheap. Make profit, not give away.”
“May I talk to Ikuta-san about this?”
“No. His idea.”
Takeshi started to walk out of the office.
“You bow when leaving manager!” said Noguchi.
Takeshi did not want to but did.
After a month, a group of employees approached Takeshi.
“These guys are nuts,” said Ken. “One of them yelled at me saying I wasn’t restocking the natto in an efficient manner.”
“The short chubby one yelled, saying my refusing to work overtime was a disgrace,” said Don. “He also ordered me to bow to him every time I see him.”
Takeshi knew that overtime was mandatory at Japanese companies. So much so there was a Japanese word, Karoshi, which meant death by overwork. Takeshi tried to explain that to Don.
“You actually understand that shit? Do us a favor. We know that you know how they think. Can you talk some sense into them? Please.”
“I’ll see,” said Takeshi.
“Just do it! For us,” asked Dave.
The problem was that he understood Japanese practices so he could tolerate it, but the others didn’t and couldn’t. Perhaps, he should be the obedient Japanese employee and not make trouble. Perhaps, he might try the diplomatic approach.
Takeshi went to Noguchi’s office. He bowed when Noguchi opened the door. “Noguchi-san, may I have an audience with you and Ikuta-san? “
“Why?” asked Noguchi.
“My fellow employees asked me to discuss with about the new duties we must perform,” Takeshi.
Noguchi went to Ikuta’s office and closed the door. Five minutes later, Noguchi instructed Takeshi into Ikuta’s office.
Takeshi bowed. “Ikuta-san, many employees are upset about new ways of doing things.”
“Like what?” asked Ikuta.
“Like bowing to customers and bowing to you and your managers all the time, the exercises in the mornings, and having women serve you tea,” said Takeshi.
“Common in Japan,” Ikuta said.
“But this is not Japan. We are second or third generation Japanese Americans. We don’t understand your ways,” said Takeshi.
“But you do,” said Ikuta. “I look your record. Why you not tell us you speak Japanese. You born in Japan. You know lots of Japanese way.”
“That’s not the point.” Takeshi forgot that Sadao kept meticulous employee records.
“Explain to others Japanese ways. Everything then okay,” said Ikuta.
“I’ve tried. Japanese Americans have different set of values. Please, reconsider these requests, and I’m sure things will work out.”
“You known as leader here. You speak Japanese, know Japanese ways. Have good education. You like to become manager?” asked Ikuta.
“Are you trying to bribe me?” asked Takeshi.
“I wrong,” said Ikuta. “You not know Japanese way,” he laughed. What Americans think of bribe considered gift and show appreciation in Japan. You should bow and thank me.”
“Hell no!” Takeshi said and ran out.
He told everyone what had happened since he knew the raccoons might try to spread the word, he was going to join them. He wouldn’t put it past them.
Daisuke and all the older employees who worked at Ohana since the beginning were gathered in the parking lot, shaking hands and hugging one another.
“What’s happening?” asked Takeshi.
“We quit. Those bastards told us that we’ll be loading and unloading trucks now,” said Daisuke. “Just a way to get rid of us higher tier employees. We’re in our seventies, that’ll kill us.”
“Those bastards!” said Takeshi. “If you quit, you can’t get unemployment.”
“We financially okay, Sadao made sure of that.”
“Why don’t you fight this?” asked Takeshi.
“Tak, we fought them once and won. But we’re now too old to fight.
All of them had tears.
“I’m going to go in right now and talk to them. They can’t do that.”
“Good luck,” said Daisuke. “It wouldn’t do any good. Tak, the only thing they understand is force, the same thing during the war.”
Takeshi went into the raccoons’ office area. “Ikuta-san. I would like to talk to you about the men who quit.”
“I superior. Why you not bow?” said Ikuta.
Takeshi slightly bowed. “About those men who quit.”
“Your supervisor Noguchi-san. Need talk him before him, get permission talk to me,” said Ikuta.
“I will,” said Takeshi.
“You need bow when leaving!” yelled Ikuta.
Takeshi did slightly bow and went to Noguchi’s office. He did not bow to Noguchi. “Why are you messing with those men? They been here since Ohana started.”
“Cost cutting. Pay too much. They too old. They slow.”
“You know what they did for this country?” yelled Takeshi.
“Your country! Not mine!” yelled Noguchi.
“I thought Japanese were honorable people. Taking care of your employees, especially what those men did for this country,” said Takeshi. “Being Japanese, I thought you would understand honor!”
“No not tell me about honor! Japanese Americans not know true Japanese honor!” yelled Noguchi.
“Why are you doing this? That’s not how a Japanese company treats their employees.”
“That true, but you Japanese Americans not real Japanese so not treat the same,” said Noguchi.
Takeshi paused “Look at me! How much more Japanese can I be?”
“If you real Japanese, you not question manager.” Noguchi started to laugh. Sadao record say you cook daikon. True?”
“Yes. What about it?”
“Real Japanese man not cook, even daikon,” said Noguchi, laughing harder.
Takeshi paused. “You’re an ass!”
“Get out office. Get out! No talk manager like that!”
“Why don’t you fire me!” said Takeshi. “That way, I’ll get unemployment.” Takeshi had never talked to someone like that before.
Takeshi called an old classmate with whom he attended a MBA program; Tweety was from Japan. His real name with Noburo Otoide, but no one could pronounce the last name, so they called him Tweety. Takeshi had not talked to Tweety since graduation when he went back to Japan. He had heard that Tweety was working for a major bank researching their potential clients.
“What a surprise,” said Tweety. “Look who’s finally calling.”
“What do you know about a Japan Market Corporation?”
“I’ve heard of them but don’t know much about them. I’ve heard they don’t have a good reputation,” said Tweety. “I’ll do some research and get back to you. Why you ask?”
Takeshi told him what had happened. “I just can’t believe a Japanese company would do that to their employees. Remember when I wanted to work for a Japanese company? In a way, I still do,” said Takeshi. “Hard work, lifelong employment, great retirement.”
“Where have you been? That’s ancient history. That went out after the last recession here. There’s no more lifelong employment or great retirement, most of the old ways are gone. The pretty girls bowing at the front of stores and serving tea still exist. It’s not the same anymore. Now big companies are retiring employees at forty-five or fifty, with small pensions. What are you to do if you have kids in school? What company is going hire a fifty-year old? Lots of old delivery truck drivers in Japan now.”
Takeshi did not know that. He felt stagnant; he should have known that.
Noguchi later informed Takeshi that he was no longer in charge of the produce, let alone ordering it. “Now me in charge.”
Takeshi wasn’t really surprised. “I’ve been doing that for years, why change now?”
“Japanese company have manager make big decision,” said Noguchi. “You not manager.”
Takeshi knew that a Japanese company had a manager make big decisions. “I know that, but I thought a Japanese company respected input from employees?”
“No question me! You not understand Japanese mind! You now just regular employee!”
Tweety called back two weeks later. “These guys are known for selling products that other stores wouldn’t take. Mostly old or cheap products.”
“How do they stay in business?” asked Takeshi.
“They open lots of stores and close a lot of stores,” said Tweety. “Kind of slash and burn. They do well in low income areas. Only place they can sell that trash.”
“But this area isn’t low income. Pretty affluent. Why here?” asked Takeshi.
“Don’t know. Looked at their data, and none of it makes any sense.”
“I thought Japanese companies did their homework, especially expanding into other countries?” asked Takeshi.
“Comes from the top. Word has it that JMC can only hire university graduates who couldn’t get into better companies, all graduated at the bottom of their class from low ranking schools. They’re not very bright,” said Tweety.
“Thanks for the information,” said Takeshi.
“Don’t wait for another two years to call. And next time let’s not talk about work.”
“Then why haven’t you called me?” asked Takeshi.
“Because I’m a Japanese business man expected to work until I drop,” said Tweety laughing.
The first shipment of daikon came since Noguchi took over the ordering.
Takeshi waited at the loading dock. He didn’t recognize the driver or the truck. When the pallet was off loaded, Takeshi saw a label, “Grown in Chile.” He didn’t know daikon was grown in Chile. The daikon were shorter and skinnier; the leaves were wilted, and dark scratches were on all of them.
Noguchi came out.
“These are crap!” yelled Takeshi. “They’re not worthy of being sold at Ohana!”
“Much cheaper. Will sell many,” said Noguchi. “Cut off leaves, sell separately. Make more money.”
Takeshi went to Ikuta’s office and went in without knocking.
“I’m going straight to the top,” said Takeshi to Ikuta. Takeshi did not bow. “This produce is awful. It’ll never sell!”
“You talk to Noguchi. Not me!” said Ikuta.
“I’m talking to you!” yelled Takeshi. “Ohana has a high profit margin because of the produce. We’re known for that!”
“Less expensive, people buy more,” said Ikuta.
“No, they wouldn’t! People who come here have money! They want quality!” yelled Takeshi.
“You no like, quit!” yelled Ikuta.
“Don’t mess with my daikon,” yelled Takeshi and paused. “How low in your class did you graduate?”
“Out! Out!” yelled Ikuta.
“I thought Japanese companies did research before coming here. I did, and you didn’t! Now I understand why JMC is considered a joke in Japan!” Takeshi left.
Takeshi asked the owners of Sakura Market, Sam Ito, and Ichiban Market, Ron Uechi, for a meeting and discuss a business plan. He also asked Sadao to come.
“I’ve heard Ohana isn’t happy land anymore,” said Sam.
Sadao laughed. “I’m getting angry calls from past customers, at home.”
“Tak,” said Sam. “I’ve heard people at first thought you were collaborating with them, but now I’ve heard that you’re really rebelling against them all that time. If you don’t like what’s happening, come work for one of us. We can use you. Your reputation follows you. You don’t need all the anxiety,”
“No!” said Takeshi. “After this, I’m not backing down on anything.”
“We can give you higher pay and a management title,” said Ron.
“I need to finish something first,” said Takeshi. “I have a business plan that’ll make Sakura and Ichiban the only Japanese markets in this area.
“How long have I known you?” asked Sadao. “Never knew had a mean streak,” said Sadao laughing.
Takeshi gave Ron and Sam each two thick binders. “These are business proposals that I’ve written. Sadao has already looked at them, and he approves. Please review it and let me know.”
“Is it going to cost us a lot?” asked Sam.
“Yes, at first but the profits will be greater in the long run. But I need your full support. Please trust me,” said Takeshi. “Even if you don’t want to go with the plan, please hire Sadao’s old friends and others who want to leave Ohana.” Takeshi bowed while sitting down.
Sadao, Sam, and Ron bowed back.
“We already have,” said Ron. “They start here or at Sakura next week.”
Takeshi bowed back again.
As Takeshi and Sadao walked out, Sadao said, “I’m really glad you’re now using that MBA to use.”
Two months later, Sakura and Ichiban announced their Grand Reopenings. Banners at both markets read, “Now with organic produce grown by local farmers.” Takeshi took out full page ads a week prior in the local Japanese and Japanese American newspapers. Both markets now offered delivery, donations to the Japanese American retirement homes and food banks. Like at Ohana, the non-produce would be pulled off the shelves one week before the “best used by” date for donations.
Takeshi had the farmers hold presentations about quality differences between their products and the ones sold at Ohana. Managers from the retirement homes came and expressed their appreciation. Items were raffled off. The mayor and Japanese American leaders came and spoke at both locations. Takeshi had Takiko drummers perform and Japanese ladies performing traditional festival dances. Ron and Sam told Takeshi that they have never had so much business during a three-day weekend.
At both locations, Takeshi wore a happi coat with the store’s name written on the back in Chinese characters. On all three days, at both locations, he saw the raccoons in the crowd with the head raccoon, Ikuta, pointing him out as he helped setting up, directing presenters, and answering questions from customers.
On Monday, Takeshi went to Ohana for work.
All five raccoons were waiting. “You fired! You fired!” yelled Ikuta. “Get out store!”
Takeshi went to the daikon display, picked one up, bit off a piece and spit it out at Ikuta. This is garbage!” yelled Takeshi. He then threw the rest of the daikon at them and with his right arm swiped all the daikon onto the floor. “That’s where they belong!” He left.
Takeshi worked at Sakura Market for the next two months. One day, he saw the raccoons talking to Sam. “What did they want?”
“Ohana might go down. They wanted to see if I could sponsor them for a work permit and work here as managers,” said Sam. “They also approached Ron for the same.”
“You’re not.”
“Of course not.”
“What did you say to them?” asked Takeshi.
“I told them to come back next week while I think about it, just to keep them jumping.”
“Can I take care of it?” asked Takeshi.
“What are you going to destroy now?”
“You’ll see,” said Takeshi.
Takeshi arranged it so the nine 442nd friends of Sadao would be present when the raccoons came back. He asked Sadao to come also. Sam led the raccoons into a meeting room where the veterans were wearing their US Army dress coats. Lots of ribbons, medals, and stripes. The raccoons entered, starred at the veterans, and bowed.
The veterans did not bow back. “Get the hell out of my country!” the veterans yelled, in unison, in Japanese.
“Get the hell out of here!” Takeshi yelled in Japanese.
Ron, Sam, Sadao, and the veterans were laughing, but Takeshi did not.
“Never done anything like this before,” said Takeshi.
“You’re learning, growing up, it’s about time,” said Sadao. “You accomplished a lot in the last two months. Feel better?”
“I guess yes,” said Takeshi. “Tough way to learn the truth.”
“Wouldn’t be the last time,” said Sadao.
Two weeks later, Sam called and said his neighbor, a high-ranking executive with a national market chain, was looking for a coordinator for their food bank program. Takeshi was hired during the telephone interview.
Ohana had shut down. He went to Sakura and bought the biggest daikon with leaves. Both markets now kept the leaves on. He went to the now boarded up entrance, placed the daikon where the entrance used to be, and wrapped a red bow around it. Takeshi didn’t regret working for JMC; in fact, he thought it was the luckiest thing that ever happened to him. He then went home and called Tweety to see how his kids were.
Bruce Kamei is Japanese American, a Sansei. However, unlike the majority of Sanseis, he was born in Japan, lived in Japan, speaks the language, and knows the culture and customs. His stories are about cultural and social conflicts in being not a “real” Japanese and not being a “real” Sansei. He received his MFA from Wichita State University long time ago.