A story about dispossession

I wasn’t close to my grandfather, and I didn’t ask much about his internment experience. They had to abandon a lot.  They had a chicken farm in Surrey, and a car which they were very proud of. I do know a story about the farm, which I will tell: On the front lawn, there was a large boulder. They tried to crack it with hot and cold water, and burn it. But nothing worked to break it down so they could remove it. That boulder is actually still there, the old property is now several blocks in Surrey, worth millions I’m sure. The boulder still sits on someone’s front lawn. You can see the burn marks on it. Further down, the city built a streetlamp over the old well. Therefore, it sinks and slowly tips over time. The city comes to straighten it once in a while, but it will start to sink again. I’m really drawn to these symbols because they remind me of my family and of the JC history. We can lose things, we can be abused, and scattered around, but our roots remain, as does our strength and stubbornness.