Alabama Red Dirt

The journey begins with a text: "On the plane. Love u much. Will call later." Two hours later, as the plane starts its descent into Birmingham, I notice in the distance the firey bursts of a thunderstorm. The flash of lightening is surprisingly frequent. In fact, it seems to come in an ordered pattern, lighting up the same cloud formations in regular intervals. I wonder what city it is hovering over and continue to observe, mesmerized, until we disappear into a light cloud cover. Upon deplaning I am met by a blast of the oppressive heat I remember feeling on my last visit 30 years before. I had traveled with my mom to sit at my paternal grandmother's bedside as she lay dying of cancer.

I head for baggage claim, worried that I need to visit the rental car desk before it closes. I have not yet reserved a vehicle for my trip to Montgomery and Selma. I exit the terminal steeling myself once more against the hot breath of the Birmingham evening and start quickly across the street toward the rental car companies. A man straddling the median sees me and says, "You must be in a hurry to get home." I tell him I am a visitor in need of a car. He gives me the thumbs up and chuckles, "Do whatcha got ta do!" I am charmed and set at ease by this exchange.

After being told to reserve a car over the phone, I return to ground transportation to call the hotel shuttle. It is then that I realize I have not picked up my checked luggage. I return to baggage claim just in time to retrieve my bags. I am ready to begin the next phase of Red Dirt. Text: "Just landed. The journey and adventure begins..."

The Curious Matter of Uncle Soo

My great-grandfather Nihei Uyeno had two wives. Chiyono (Ushijima) Uyeno, was his second wife and my grandmother's mother. Together they had seven children, five of whom helped to grow the Uyeno clan. His first wife Suda, who for some reason is listed on the family tree by maiden name only, died at the age of 24 leaving Nihei with two sons, Satoru and Masaru. Masasu is an Uyeno. Satoru is a Soo (long "O").

As I remember the story, told to me by my grandmother, Satoru Soo had a different last name because he was given away at a young age to a family with no children. I loved that story because it sounded poetic, like it came straight from historical literature. I often wondered how he felt being given the responsibility of carrying on someone elses name by no choice of his own. Did he want to be a Soo? Was the Soo family kind to him? Was he ever able to see his father and brother? Did he miss them desperately, particularly after losing his mother?

When I would think on the story, I saw the vivid image of a young, cherub-faced boy with sunburned cheeks walking alone through the red dirt of the cane fields at Makaweli camp. I felt the hot, dry heat of Kauai's West side on the back of his neck as he looked toward the roaring Pacific in the far horizon. I heard the lonely cries of the shakuhachi as it moaned for the solitary boy who longed to return to his papa.

Well, scratch that, as this week I was introduced to several other, more practical versions of the tale. My mother, who also got the scoop from my grandmother, thought Uncle Soo took the name of someone who had no children but was not given away. My mother's cousin Matsuko, thought Soo took the name of an "auntie," who may or may not have been blood. She too did not think he was given away because she had memories of him interacting with the family. Uncle John, whose father was Soo's brother Masaru wasn't sure of what happened either. But he definitely stayed in the immediate family.

There were others with versions of the Uncle Soo story as well. The common thread was that everyone was sure he was carrying on the name of a family without children, everyone was sure he was not given away and nobody knew who the Soos were.

Sometimes, the solution to a mystery is closer than one thinks. After spending the week wringing our hands, wracking our brains and telling and retelling our versions of the curious matter of Uncle Soo, my mom gets an idea: why not call his grandaughter Karen. Duh.

Karen told the story she got straight from the horse's mouth. Her "jichan" (grandfather) said that "Soo" was the name of a blood auntie who had no children. He took her name so it could be carried on. He was not given away but stayed with his father, brother, stepmother and half siblings.

While the story may not have the same dramatic effect that it has held for me all these years, its still an interesting one. And the mystery has not been totally solved. We still do not know exactly who Soo is. And as for carrying on his auntie's name, Uncle Soo had seven children, five of whom gave him grandchildren. These grandchildren also had many children and today the Soo side of the Uyeno clan is the largest. If anything, Uncle Soo was definitely the right guy for the job.

Defacto Parenting

My husband and I have no children. We discussed the possibility of adoption years ago but never ended up following through. This summer my 13-year-old nephew Jonathan is with us on Kauai. My mom has spent time alone with him before; we have not. When Jonathan was younger, he loved coming to Hawaii and told my mother how he planned to move here someday and marry an Asian woman. But now as he enters adolescence his interests lie less in the fascinating lush environment of the Garden Island and more with endless video games with friends. When asked, he less often shares boyish daydreams about future plans but rather, responds in monotone, one-word grunts. Nor does he appear to enjoy quite as much spending time with "aging" family members (even though we are much more active than your garden variety senior citizen)

Don't get me wrong. Jonathan is not totally withdrawn. He is a good kid with a creative sense of humor that keeps me laughing constantly. And I have never had the chance to spend time with him without his mother or father being present. So I do view this as an opportunity.

But Jonathan is 13. Need I say more.

After my brother left, it became apparent that we needed to establish some kind of routine for the boy, particularly after he received permission to purchase a used XBox360 from Gamestop. I convinced my mother to make him use money he received from Uncle Jeff (my other brother) for the purchase. JW is not easily parted with his money so I assume he was jonesing pretty hard.

As I am not well versed in the world of video, I was hardly prepared for what came next.

The 12-hour XBox marathon began with a 7 a.m. wake up call -- Jonathan talking animatedly to friends on a mic connected to the game, a huge departure from the monosyllabic "conversation" I'd been used to. I must admit being somewhat awed by the wonders of technology. I had no idea one could interact in this way. Jonathan was fully immersed in a way I hadn't seen him in a long time which made me understand a little more fully the new way the younger generation relates to one another.

We were all pretty wiped after my two brothers and their significant others left so this day was spent with a needed respite. No one had the energy for organized activity. So the adults sat (I watched two hours of Project Runway) and Jonathan played. Before we knew it, he had been on for 12 hours.

I was shocked. And worried. I may not have been the one to insist that Jonathan stay in Hawaii for a month, but I certainly couldn't just let the kid veg out with video games -- even if it did give him the chance to interact with friends.

We decided to have a discussion with Jonathan about what he felt was a fair and balanced way to allow him to have fun, but keep his brain from turning into technological mush. The conversation seemed to go well and we were able to establish a framework for his cyberschedule with Jonathan's help.

Its been two days since the marathon and we have finally settled on a plan. Jonathan has been great; he has not given us any resistance.

This one incident has really opened my eyes to the complications of parenting. I know that parents tend to look at childfree couples (a term I learned from a book on accepting infertility) with a raised eyebrow when we spout off advice and now I see why. While I am not fully willing to give up my outsider privilege I do appreciate more, the complex nature and shear energy it takes to parent a child. I see why sometimes one must be inconsistent because to be any other way is beyond exhausting.

When dealing with non-video time, I employed a trick I learned from friends who are parents. Give specific choices. So I asked Jonathan, "Which do you want, surf lessons or hula lessons?" He gave me one of those teenager WTF looks. "I don't want either of those," he said.

"Well," you have to choose something." I said. "What's your choice?" "Hiking." He replied. Bobby took him on the 11 mile Nu'alolo/Awa-'awapui trail. Phew! I'm tired.

The Red Dirt Project Begins

Last year I applied to the Fund for Teachers , an organization that provides grants for educators to renew, rejuvenate and learn. The project I chose to pursue was my "Red Dirt Project." In my application, I wrote the following:
“The Red Dirt Project” has been percolating in my head for the last five years. It is a writing endeavor that will explore the connections between my two ethnic backgrounds: African American and Japanese American. My late father was a native of Alabama; my mother is from the island of Kauai in Hawai’i. On the surface, one might think, as I did for many years, that these are two very disparate backgrounds that would present some big challenges in terms of defining one’s ethnic identity. And it absolutely has. But over the past few years, pieces of the puzzle have come together in interesting ways. These clues came to me through artistic expression.
The idea for Red Dirt “sprouted” during a theatre production on the history of the Hawaiian Islands, “Ulalena,” I realized that I have a “plantation history on both sides of my family. My maternal grandparents were both born in Makaweli Camp, a sugar plantation on the West Side of Kauai. I know that somewhere in my African American history (although like most, I don’t have specific details) is a plantation.
My second epiphany came while watching the movie, “Picture Bride,” a film about young Japanese women coming to Hawai’i as picture brides for Japanese sugar cane plantation workers. Life for the women was difficult as they too were required to work the fields for very little pay, much like sharecroppers in the South. In order to pass the workday, they would sing field songs called hano hano bushi, very similar to slave field hollers. Realizing this connection whet my interest and I began thinking of other connections there might be between the experiences of my forebears. The thought came in the form of – literally – red dirt.
While I don’t have many memories my father’s hometown, for some reason I have always remembered the red clay I’d seen when visiting as a child. The volcanic soil of Hawaii is also red. It is here where the journey begins: the red soil of my two heritages, a metaphor of the life eventually given to me.
These odd, yet poignant intersections are not the stuff of comprehensive genealogy projects but the beginnings of good stories. With “Red Dirt” the point isn’t the find, it is the search, the journey about which I will write, film and photograph."

I invite you to join me on this journey and keep me accountable for recording each step. Hope you enjoy!