Blog of Magic Cheese

In my family, we don't really talk about our emotions or express affection or that sort of thing. The word "love" is certainly rarely said, and never in association with a family member. Think 1st generation Japanese American "soldier on" mentality complete with gruff grunting.

Where we do show our affections is by giving one another snacks. I remember my grandmother always having snacks she'd picked out at Oto's, my hometown Japanese grocery, waiting for me and my brother when we went to visit her. She'd buy boxes of Pocky for the neighborhood kids, too.

I was raised primarily by my father, and he took this, as is his way, to his own peculiar extreme by bringing boxes of dozens of cream filled donuts and apple strudel in the house for me and my brother when we were teenagers. As a child he'd take me, a chronic insomniac like him, to the gas station to get donuts at 3 A.M. when I couldn't sleep.

Somehow I've picked this up too, because whenever I'm on trips I'm always looking for new sour candies for my brother, or interesting cane sugar sodas for my husband that he'd like to drink.

I went to pick up my car in Sacramento, where I'd had to leave it before Christmas because the flights were so hectic getting into Canada to visit my in-laws that we had to fly out of Sacramento and back into San Francisco. I skipped wushu practice to hang out with my father on Sunday and I think he must understand how much I hate missing wushu practice because he took me to every snack place we went to as a child and I came home loaded up with Japanese and Chinese groceries and two tubs of ice cream from Vic's.

I love you too, Dad.