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Memorial Day by Wataru Ebihara

the jacaranda trees are purple lining my street -- the outline of the mountains barely visible flowers bloom brightly around me like my grandfather -- jiji wore a bright red aloha shirt when i visited at Keiro fading in and out of consciousness he recognized me and talked excitedly about colonies in space and asked if it was really possible he showed me his new digital watch and i sat with him until he fell asleep -- his glass eye was still open reflecting the future but i knew it was time for me to go today i touch and feel the surface of a black granite stone with the engraved letters of my grandfather's name -- SHIRO EBIHARA and i remember being five or six hanging on my grandfather's arm where he proudly let me feel his strong muscles i am cutting and pulling away the grass following around the rectangular edges moving away the dusty covered soil with my tools scraping on the hot surface -- where a drip of my sweat falls it was as if jiji was just back from working in the garden leaving his muddy shoes by the door; he would relax on the sofa drinking a cold beer in his undershorts watching tv with the picture out of adjustment while the fan blew a gust of wind wiping the surface with tile cleaner the stone was now brilliant to a polish; arranging the flowers a bit i took one quick glimpse before i left i saw my grandfather asleep with the gravestone reflecting the sun -- his glass eye still awake; i didn't want to leave but it was time again to go

Wataru Ebihara is the Information Systems Manager at the Little Tokyo Service Center in downtown Los Angeles.

Response By Bill Watanabe Remembering Our Ancestors Remembering our ancestors has long been an important aspect of Nikkei culture. I have been to visit my relatives in Fukushima Japan three times over that past 30 years, and each time, my Japanese auntie takes me to the family cemetery where we placed burning incense in honor of our deceased relatives. When I was young, my parents used to visit several cemetery regularly, bringing me and my brother along to place flowers at the graves of my brother and some of my parents close friends. My mother visited the grave of my father at least weekly until she became too weak to do so; whenever I went along with her, I noticed that very few of the other gravesites seemed to have fresh flowers or any kind of remembrance at all. Some of the graves near my father's grave looked as though no one had come for many years, and the flower cannisters were filled with dirt and hidden under the grass which was encroaching around the flat gravestone marker. I felt a sense of continuity that Nikkei remember those who have gone ahead, and take the time to honor the dead. I also felt a sense of responsibility and obligation that I should do the same when my parents have passed away. I silently make the commitment to remember my dead family members as best I can and to visit the cemetery as dutifully as possible. Wataru remembers his Grandfather in his mind and connects those memories with the world, where vivid colors remind him of his ji-chan's colorful shirts, and the sweat from his brow reminds him of his grandfather's toil in the garden. Wataru also makes the time and effort to go to a special place to honor his grandfather, and to make it look nice. Why make the effort? I think because it is a recognition that our forefathers have given something to us, and this is a concrete way to give something back. It is a way to say that what we are is partly a product of where we came from, and a foundation to where we might someday go.