Folks

Folks all seem to have fascinating stories to tell if I take time to focus and listen. This week I had the opportunity to relish some from seasoned folks that really are intriguing. Most of the folks consider themselves to be quite “ordinary” but to me they’re special. One especially struck a chord with me.



My wife and I just spent over an hour with a special diminutive eighty-five year old Japanese/American lady. Her big bright eyes conveyed a “lost puppy” look as the story of her World War Two interment unfolded. She told of reading a posting on a telephone pole in her hometown of Stockton, California that stated that she and all other Japanese/Americans must report to a processing station the following day. She started to speak of a childhood pet left behind but her voice trailed off to the point I couldn’t understand her. From the central collection point she and her family were herded on trains that whisked them away to the hills of far off Arkansas. While in transit they were told to keep the train windows shades down especially when they were in stations. One of her friends disregarded the instructions and opened the window to wave to folks in the station. Her face registered a special grimace when she conveyed the looks and comments that their Asian features prompted. The agony was especially acute because there was no recognition that she and her family were second and third generation American citizens. She amazingly spoke with no malice of the three “lost” years spend in remote Arkansas. In fact, she was grateful to have been courted in the camp by her late husband of sixty years and to ultimately be awarded her “lost” high school diploma when she returned to California. Unfortunately, there were no inclination to hire these returning citizens and life was austere for quite some time.


I asked if she had visited Japan. She told of visiting Nagasaki, the site of the atomic bombing not many years after the war. She spoke of meeting many Japanese citizens who with little visible bitterness told of their individual losses and pain. Almost universally they seemed to almost stoically accept this horror. When they realized that she was an American, they almost apologetically said that “the Americans must have had well founded reasons for the bombing” even though they didn’t understand them.


There is something almost magnetic about folks who have gracefully experienced extreme personal pain and spring boarded beyond it. Not that they have forgotten. A select few have permitted their hearts to be “tenderized” in a special way rather than permitting them to become tough and callous. It’s folks like this that are often used in such special ways to touch the rest of us. Not only does this seem to have a wonderful effect on the rest of us, but the effect seems to grow almost exponentially as these folks become more seasoned with time. I have no desire “to go through the fire” but can’t ignore the wonderful correlations of those that do and are “tenderized” by it. I am grateful for the pain experienced by those special folks whose lives have touched me so deeply. I want to reciprocate by using my past, present, and future pain to be sensitive to others as I’m summoned.