Breadcrumbs

 

Oral histories are real history. They are the heart of what people remember. People share stories to share lives. Parents tell stories to their children to teach and so their children know where they come from. But oral histories are sometimes weak on facts. Putting the stories in context can be like following bread crumbs. 

I have grown old being busy with kids and survival. Now I have more time to sort through bits of paper left to me. I knew my dad had been stationed in Okinawa at one point, and my mom went with him. I didn’t know where and I didn’t know how long. I knew it was after the end of the war and before my brother was born. I had a few stories and had seen some random photos. 

There is a photo of my mom in front of a door, her almost six two height makes her an imposing figure in comparison. They were her cook and houseboy, a term accepted at the time. My mom had been uncomfortable at first with the expectation that they must hire local people to do work my mom had always done for herself. But the rate was very low while greatly helping the local economy. True to my mom’s nature, she became friends with them. The cook taught her how to cook rice so it always came out fluffy and just right. 

The base housing they were assigned had originally been used as part of a field hospital during the war. Their bedroom had been a psych ward. In converting it to housing, they had not replaced the door, which still had a small observation window in it. 

When my dad was transferred back to the states, my dad was flown on a transport plane. My mom was sent on a slower route, by ship. She was sick on the voyage and was offered lemon wedges and crackers. There was much concern about her ongoing seasickness on the long trip.

The image below is from her security application for a security clearance. This is the crumb I found.  It was for a security clearance she needed in the late 1950’s for her job in the historical and engineering file at Douglas Aircraft. She worked there all through my childhood. 

This shows that their time was six months at the base in Kadena, Okinawa for six months. I never knew that she had worked as a civilian clerk for more than half their time there. I also didn’t know they had then gone to New York, but explains another story about my dad. 

I look through the old photos, but unless my mom is in them I can sometimes only guess which are from Okinawa. I still remember my mom teaching me how to cook rice the way her cook taught her. Also the memory of my mom’s laughter at her own clever word play. She wasn’t seasick, she was “Samsick.” My big brother was conceived in a psych ward and born in a bridal suite. But how that second part came about is another story. 

Life gets busy and papers get shuffled and tucked away. Sometimes they get lost. I wish I was better at sorting, I’m sure there are more stories hiding in some crumbling pages. I'm trying to get some knots untangled in my life so I can do a better job with this ephemera. Still, I’ll keep telling the stories I can. 

As a note: I’m going to look at changing this blog to adult only. Not because I plan to be offensive, just maybe things that are above kids maturity. I’d rather parents choose what kids are ready for. I will also do my best to add content warnings (CW) for things like child loss or abuse. If you read my blog regularly, please do let me know if there are other subjects you would like a warning about. And thank you for reading.