When I was growing up, I would hear about the internment anecdotally from my father. Sometimes he would say “when we were kicked outta here …” when he was referencing something that happened to him or his family either here in Vancouver or later in Grand Forks. Dad was a young adult at the time of internment and certainly old enough to appreciate the full scope of what was happening. Being the oldest child naturally conferred upon him a duty of care for his younger siblings, the youngest of whom was only 8 years old in 1942. I think the weight of responsibility was substantial.
It really wasn’t until I was in my late teens that I paid more attention to the stories my father would relate about how he and his family were affected by both racist laws and internment. It was difficult to fully comprehend the extent of the impact of the internment on him, in particular, his loss of opportunity. What if he had been able to go to university and become a pharmacist as he had once hoped, or pursue another profession whose doors were closed to him at the time? Although after many years of hard work, he was able to develop a successful import/export business, his life would have undoubtedly been easier not having to work at it seven days a week. And we kids would have been able to spend more time with him at home.
Dad was very active in fundraising for Redress, right from the start. Even after so many years had passed, he still sought some kind of justice, especially for his parents. Unfortunately, his dad passed away in 1957, but his mother lived until 1992. My maternal grandmother passed away 8 days before Redress was formally awarded, but her husband lived until 1995.
