Free A Thousand Stitches by Constance O'Keefe

was a poor Edo-era boy who had long been held up for children as a model of honesty, diligence, thrift, and moderation. His story was no longer just a lesson of how a poor boy could succeed and prosper; it was suddenly a model for the kind of behavior the government wanted to inspire in young people all around the country—the ideals of self-sacrifice and hard work were now promoted because they served to aid the nation and the war effort. I was fascinated by the statue of the earnest boy with his bare feet, his bundle of gathered firewood on his back, and his gaze fixed on a book even as he trudged through his daily chores. I was so interested that on the second day of the new school year, I got to Bancho early so I would have time to myself to inspect the statue thoroughly. As I was doing so, Principal Tomihisa came up behind me and said, “Well, Imagawa, I see you admiring our new statue. It’s impressive, isn’t it? And now that we’re lucky enough to have our own statue of Kinjiro, I hope it’ll help to remind you every day of the important goals we talked about at assembly yesterday.”
    â€œYes, Principal Tomihisa,” I said, wondering if somehow the fact that the word oriental had just popped into my mind for the first time in a year somehow showed on my face.
    â€œRun along now,” he said. “You don’t want to be late.” As I did, I resolved to pay better attention to what my teachers told me—I might look Japanese but I still had a way to go before I really fit in.
    Although it was never spoken about, I think the real reason my parents decided to go back to Matsuyama was that the Depression was wearing on them in San Francisco. They were not advancing as Mother believed they should. Father’s jobs—clerk in a book store, shipping agent at a trucking company—were never, I think, what she thought appropriate, and the salaries were far too meager. I’m sure she thought things at home would be a bit better. The Imagawa family had been prominent for generations in Matsuyama and in Ishii Village, where it owned a great deal of land. I think Mother decided to reclaim that status for herself and for me. Finishing elementary school in Japan would give me time to get acclimated and prepare for the Matsuchu entrance examination. A Matsuchu education would be the first step toward a successful life for me in Matsuyama.
    Father arrived home the second summer we were back in Japan. Mother was displeased that he had not brought anything from our Cedar Street house with him, and even more displeased when she learned how little he had sold everything for. When he stepped off the ferry, he said, “Isamu, how you’ve grown. How tall and strong you’ve become.” At first, it was strange to have him around again, even though I was happy to see him and happy that we were all together again.
    Later that first week, when I was relating what we had learned at school about the advances of the Japan’s Kanto Army of the East in China, Father said, “It’s not just that my boy is growing tall and strong, he’s also grown a whole new set of opinions.” He never said anything like that again, but I think now that he must have been astonished at the changes in me. At that point, I needed no coaxing to hold forth on Japan’s military prowess and the nobility of the Yamato race.
    Father wanted to spend as much time as possible at Ishii Village. Our family didn’t actually farm; the land was all rented out to tenant farmers. Father said he loved to be out in the open and that that was the best part of leaving San Francisco behind. He was especially fond of a creek on the edge of our Ishii property. He and I went fishing often. It was easier than our excursions from Japantown to Tiburon, where he had occasionally taken me to catch rock cod. Now, we just strolled through the fields and spent a peaceful summer afternoon. What was the same