of screwing them up. My friend thinks it’s important for me to share my feelings about this with you, so that’s what I’m doing.
p.s. please give the enclosed letter to Daddy.
March 1984
Dear Lloyd,
Fuck you.
Yumi
November 1984
Dear Momoko and Lloyd,
I’m writing to tell you that you have a grandson. His name is Phoenix, and he was born on the first day of November. He weighed 9 lbs. 5 oz. at birth. He is a magical baby, and I am overjoyed.
I hope you will find it in your heart to be glad. I know I never do things the way you want me to, and I suppose the first thing you will want to know is if I am married. I am not. And you should also know that Phoenix’s father and I don’t intend to get married. Paul is the Plant Sciences professor I’ve been working for. I’ve known him since he was a grad student, and we lived in the Berkeley house together. He’s the one who got me off the street and off drugs—I never told you much about that year, but it was bad, and I can honestly say that I owe him my life. He’s gay, but we decided to have this child together because, well, that’s what happened, and this is San Francisco, and it just seemed right. (Paul is Japanese, Mom, a sansei. His last name is Yamamoto, and he comes from a long line of gardeners, too.) Anyway, he and I both agree that since normal families are so screwed up and dysfunctional, we might as well try to have an abnormal one. He’s smart and kind and handsome. He’ll be a wonderful and nonjudgmental father.
December 1985
Dear Momoko,
Thanks for the letter. It finally caught up to me here in Portland. Paul and I decided to get married after all. He got a job at the University of Oregon, and I came here to be with him. I’m back in school, working on my master’s and teaching part-time. Rents are a lot cheaper than in Berkeley, but it rains a lot. Phoenix is one now, and he is so beautiful. I wish you could see him.
December 1987
Dear Mom,
You didn’t tell me that Lloyd had a second heart attack in ’83. Is that why you didn’t come to my graduation? You don’t have to answer that. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m glad that he was okay. He sure is lucky, isn’t he? You don’t have to answer that either.
Phoenix is doing great. He’s three now, and I’ve got him in preschool, which hopefully will give me a chance to finish my master’s thesis. It’s called “Fading Blossoms, Falling Leaves: Visions of Transience and Instability in the Literature of the Asian-American Diaspora.” Basically, it’s about the way images of nature are used as metaphors for cultural dissolution.
Are you still doing the garden and selling seeds? My love of plants is purely poetic, and Paul thinks it’s funny the way I kill anything I actually try to grow. His interest is purely scientific, so we balance each other out. He’s doing well, by the way. He got a job offer in the plant-breeding program at the U of Texas, so we may have to move to Dallas. Yuck.
May 1989
Dear Mom,
Well, it’s final. I got my master’s, and Paul and I are getting a divorce. I guess I should have seen it coming. The good news is that he’s finally getting tenure, so he can pay child support. I’ll need it—the pay scale for the kind of adjunct teaching gigs I can get is for shit. Anyway, I’m sick of Texas, and I’m thinking of moving someplace with a larger Asian presence, so Phoenix doesn’t have to grow up twisted. I think I may have a chance at a teaching fellowship at the University of Hawaii, where I could work on my Ph.D. Wouldn’t that be exotic?
August 1992
Dear Momoko and Lloyd,
I’m writing to tell you of the birth of your first granddaughter, Ocean Eugenia, born on June 21—a summer-solstice child. I’m sending you a picture. She has Fuller eyes. I’m living in Honolulu now. Phoenix and I are living with Ocean’s father in a great house on the beach. He runs a surf shop. I’m still working on my degree and teaching, but it’s more laid back here, and maybe I’ve got a better attitude. Paul used to say that adjunct teaching was like any economy of scale, and you just have to treat it like farming potatoes—standardize your product, increase your volume, work the margins, and make sure your courses are cosmetically flawless. Whatever. It’s really so beautiful here, and as long as the kids are happy, it’s okay for now.
Aloha,
Yumi
February 1997
Dear Momoko and Lloyd,
Well, I haven’t heard from you for a really long time, so here’s the news: Whether you like it or not, you have a new grandson. If you want to know his name, you can write and ask me.
Yumi
P.S. This is the last one you are going to get.
December 3, 1998
Dear Cassie,
Wow. Is this really you? I got your e-mail and then your letter. Thank you for telling me about Lloyd and Momoko. I’ve been wondering what’s been going on with them, and this explains why she stopped writing. I hope they’re still okay?
Anyway, I went back and forth about your suggestion—I have some pretty complex feelings about my parents, as you can imagine—but I’ve decided I should see them. I can take a month off during winter break, so I’ll be arriving in Pocatello before Christmas. I’ll e-mail you with the date and times. Do you think you could pick me up at the airport?
It will be interesting to see each other, don’t you think? After all these years?
second
And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind . . .
—Genesis
