Friday, May 6th, 11:14 P.M.
Mom made tacos tonight for dinner. Dad had gotten off work early, so he was able
to swing by the market for some fresh tomatoes and lettuce that made the meal
taste better. At about 3:45, a phone
call came in that changed the tone of the evening. Mom served dinner at about six. Dad, Sakoshi, and I gathered and started
crafting our meals. After we said the
prayer we usually say over dinner and began digging in, Mom, like she always
does, struck up a conversation.
“Hato.”
I replied, “Yes, Mom,” or at least I tried to say
that with a mouth full of taco meat.
“I got a call from the school today.”
Sakoshi energetically said, “Really! Was it about me?”
Mom, with a smile reserved for only the cutest of
young children, said, “No, it was from Hato’s school.”
Sakoshi, continuing with his high energy, gleefully
said to Mom, “They could have been calling about me. I’m smart.
I got a hundred on my math test today.”
Sakoshi is so cute. It’s going to
be sad when the public school system crushes his soul.
Dad put a stop to this cute display and cut right to
the chase. “Belle, what did the school
call about?”
Mom took off her smile and said, “Hato missed school
today.”
Dad, with a scowl reserved for only older children,
said, “Is this true?”
When I skipped school for my interview at Barrett,
Copeland, and Reno, I made an effort to lie about it. I made no such effort this time. “Yes.”
Dad continued confrontationally, “Why?”
“I had a job interview with Warrior Technological.”
The scowl lifted from Dad’s face. “Oh.
Well, that’s a reason to skip school.
Not a good reason, but a reason.”
Mom, now beaming with optimism, tried to continue
the conversation. “So, how did the
interview go?”
I didn’t respond to my Mom’s question. I just looked down at my plate and started
fiddling with my food. Dad pressed
on. “Hato, how did the interview
go?” I didn’t want to deal with this, I
still don’t want to deal with this. I
got up from the table, left the kitchen, and went down to hall to my room. I was there for about a minute before there
was a knock at the door.
“Hato, honey, are you okay?” I wanted to snap back with a no, but it was
my Mom so I didn’t. My Mom opened my
bedroom door just enough to allow her to poke her head in. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I told my Mom about the interview, every despicable
detail of it. It was difficult for me to
do this, mostly because I rarely use that kind of language around my
parents. As I told her this story, my
Mom just sat with a very concerned look on her face, allowing me to vent my
story unobstructed. Only when I was done
did Mom give her thoughts.
“Hato, I’m so sorry that happened to you. You’re right to be offended. What that guy did to you is wrong, and the
fact that he did it speaks poorly of his company. That being said, you can’t let this get you
down. You just can’t. Your father, when he was younger and looking
for work, received a lot worst insults than what you described.
I was shocked by what my Mom had just said. “There are worst insults?”
“Yes, there are, and I pray you never find out what
those insults are. My point, Hato, is
that your father didn’t let those insults get him down. If he had, he wouldn’t be the person he is
today. You shouldn’t let those insults
get you down either. You need to keep
your chin up and keep moving forward, because things will get better.”
What my Mom said made me feel better, as well as the
kiss she laid on my head before she left my room. I can’t allow the insults people throw at me
to get me down. I can’t. If I do, the racist win. I’m going to try to keep my head up as I go
to my interview on Monday. Perhaps that
one will finally go well.
Goodnight.
Hato Shurtleff
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