Yours truly,
Yumi
P.S. If you see Cassie Unger around, please tell her to write back.
July 1976
Dear Mom,
Wow, you actually answered my letter! I didn’t expect Daddy would let you. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe I shouldn’t be writing to you at all, because it will only get you into trouble, but I guess you can handle him. I’m the one who couldn’t. Did I always make him so mad? (That’s called a rhetorical question, which means you don’t have to answer it.)
Anyway, I’m sorry Daddy had a heart attack, but I’m glad it wasn’t too serious and he’s okay now. I hope he’s not still totally angry at me. I guess I feel a little guilty, but deep down I don’t think what I did was so bad. I was just a stupid kid, dumb enough to get in trouble, but smart enough to do something about it. I know he would call that sinful, and maybe you think so, too, but that’s just your opinion. Honestly, I wouldn’t change what I did, but I guess there’s no point in even talking about it. I know he won’t forgive me, and probably you don’t approve either. That’s okay. I appreciate you writing back. Do you miss me? I miss you sometimes. If the time ever seems right, please tell him that I love him in spite of everything.
love, Yumi
P.S. That’s too bad about Carl Unger losing his farm, but it’s good that he can go and work for Daddy. Do you ever see Cass? I sent her a bunch of letters, but she never writes me back.
July 1979
Dear Mom,
Wow, thanks for the money order. Guess what I’m going to spend it on? My college textbooks! I got into Berkeley. I got a scholarship and everything! I think I’m going to major in Asian Studies, or maybe English. Or both. So I’ll need lots of books, and the money will totally come in handy. By the way, where are you getting it from anyway? Does Dad know?
April 1983
Dear Mom,
So how’s the seed business going? Are you planting yet, or is it still too cold? I guess with the new greenhouse you can get a jump on the season. I think it’s so cool that you made a business out of it, all on your own. I’m so proud of you!
Thanks again for the money. It’s hard at the end of the semester, making ends meet. Anyway, you won’t have to worry about me for a while. It looks like I’m getting a prize for a paper I wrote. It’s called “The Exiled Self: Fragmentation of Identity in Asian-American Literature.” Pretty heavy, huh? And the best thing is, it comes with a check for a thousand dollars! Isn’t that cool? I wish you could come to graduation.
I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Unger. She was nice, even if her husband was a creep. When you wrote that he died, I was glad because finally she could be free of him, but maybe she just got hooked on all that abuse and couldn’t live without it. I’m glad Cassie married a nice man and got out of there. She never did write me, but if you see her, tell her I said hi.
Are you sure you can’t come to the graduation? No, I know you can’t. But, I’m thinking maybe I should try writing to Daddy myself.
Love, Yumi
April 1983
Dear Dad,
I am writing to tell you that I am graduating from the University of California at Berkeley this year, and I would like to invite you and Mom to the graduation, if you would like to come.
We haven’t seen each other for just over eight years now. This really makes me sad. I know there is a lot we don’t agree upon, but you are my father, and I would like to have a relationship with you again. I know you think what I did was wrong, and I won’t ask you to forgive me, but won’t you even talk to me?
I’m graduating with honors in English and Asian Studies, and I’m also receiving a prize. I’m not bragging. I was just hoping that maybe you would be happy to know. I’m enclosing two round-trip plane tickets for you and Mommy that I bought with my prize money. I hope you’ll come.
I love you, Yumi
May 1983
Momoko and Lloyd,
I hate you.
November 1983
Dear Mom,
Thanks for your letter. It took awhile for it to catch up with me. I moved out of the Berkeley house and got a job writing grants for a professor in Plant Sciences. He says that normally he never would have hired an English major, but he was surprised at how much I knew about agricultural stuff. He says I must have just absorbed it, growing up on a farm. Anyway, I need the job since I’ve decided to go to grad school.
Thanks for the money order. I meant those tickets to be a gift to you and Lloyd, but I can use the money for books.
March 1984
Dear Momoko,
Why do we have such a difficult relationship? Why can’t we just love each other like a normal family? I’m trying to understand why I’m so scared of having kids of my own, and I realized it’s because I’m afraid 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