In honor of Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islanders (AANHPI) Heritage Month, we are thrilled to share a reflection from AAPI Senior Fellow Margaret Abe-Koga (Class XXII), Mountain View City Councilmember.
Through the stories of incredible leaders like Margaret, we aim to share some of the diverse experiences and important contributions of AAPI women in our community.
Kodomo no Tame ni – For the Sake of Our Children
These last nine months, as my husband and I have been transitioning to empty nesthood, or as some call it, bird launching, the Japanese saying Kodomo no tame ni—for the children—has come to mind often as I reflect not only on my journey raising two daughters, but that of my immigrant parents raising me.
My parents grew up in Japan during World War II. Dad was an only child of a merchant marine who went out to sea one day and never came back. His mother died two years later, so my dad was orphaned at fifteen years old, living with an uncle until he could go out on his own at age eighteen. His schooling was interrupted by the war, so he had just a middle school education. My mom was the only daughter out of six children to a confectioner/farmer and his wife. She was sent out to help with the neighbors, babysitting, or doing household chores to make some money to contribute to her family. She was always taking care of someone else so when she turned eighteen, she fled to Tokyo to be on her own and take care of herself. Like most of the people in post World War II Japan, my parents did whatever job they could to make ends meet and survive.
They tried to have children for ten years, but my mom had two miscarriages and was told by her doctor to give up. And then she became pregnant with me. My father’s cousin had immigrated to the United States and urged him to visit and consider immigrating, too. It was during my parents’ visit to California that I was born, and that was the impetus for their decision to immigrate as they thought that with my being female, I would have more opportunities in the United States.
My dad became a gardener, a common job among Japanese American men in San Mateo, working ten hours a day, six days a week. My mom started out cleaning houses, tried to run a small business selling tofu, and eventually ended up at the flight kitchen for the airlines, waking up each day at 4:30 am to get to work to make the airline meals. Watching my parents, I knew their jobs were not what they wanted to be doing, but they did what they could to provide for our family. I was not particularly proud of what my parents did, especially my dad, who tended to the gardens of the lavish homes of some of my classmates. Imagine the horror when my classmate one day in high school came up to me to tell me that her mom wanted my dad to cut a certain tree in their backyard. I remember not wanting to accept the San Mateo Gardner’s Association Scholarship at graduation because I didn’t want my classmates to know my dad was just a gardener.
I felt the weight and was at times resentful, but as I’ve grown older, I realize it was also motivation for me to work hard to make good on their efforts and sacrifices.
Because my parents never learned English, like many children of immigrants, I became their translator at the age of five when I learned English. It was yet another burden for me as I had to deal with medical appointments, bills, creditors, and pretty much everything adults usually take care of. I could hear the condescending tone in the voices of the people we had to talk to when I called or showed up for an appointment to translate for my parents. At ten years old, I took over preparing and sending out my dad’s invoices for his gardening services. He handed over the ledger each month, and as I flipped through it, I saw how some clients would neglect paying their bills for months. I would mark those invoices “PAST DUE” in bold red letters, but sometimes to no avail. After three or four months of non-payment, my dad would give up and just stop going to those homes. This is how I learned about wage theft.
My dad was diagnosed with diabetes and a number of ailments in his late thirties. Because of his pre-existing condition and his self-employed status, he was unable to get health insurance. He could not be treated. I remember my mom complaining about the exorbitant cost of his medications that they had to pay out of pocket and the stress that came from the high costs. It was an early introduction to our broken healthcare system.
My dad loved old John Wayne western movies, which gave him an image of America and the American Dream. (The) reality for him was very different. Despite the adversity, I could see my parents doing their best to persevere. They often said that it was so I could have a better life, “Kodomo no tame ni”. I felt the weight and was at times resentful, but as I’ve grown older, I realize it was also motivation for me to work hard to make good on their efforts and sacrifices.
Like most people, I grew to understand my own parents when I had my own children. I realized what my parents meant when they said, “for the sake of the children.”
In fact, it was the birth of my first daughter that motivated me to run for political office. I was attracted to public service with the idea of paying it forward and working to ensure that everyone could have a voice in our society because I saw from my parents’ eyes how much struggle there is when one doesn’t have a voice. My introversion and insecurities, however, kept me happy to be working in the background, helping others as a legislative staffer, or supporting campaigns. When I had Aili, that suddenly changed as a lightbulb turned on, and I gained the motivation and courage to decide to step up and run for elected office because it became about more than me—it became about my daughter and her future. On the County Board of Education, I could work to improve and ensure all our children had a strong education. And then, when my second daughter, Aina, came along 2 ½ years later, I ran for the Mountain View City Council to break a barrier and become the first AAPI woman to serve in that role. I wanted to represent the voices of women, young families, and a growing AAPI community, and I wanted to do my part in ensuring that my girls would have a smoother life than the ones my parents and I had.
Admittedly, serving in elected office while raising young children has had its challenges and many sacrifices. I’m still waiting to see if the other shoe will drop from my missing some of the girls’ volleyball games or the school play, or not being able to tuck them into bed on Tuesday nights because of council meetings. Fortunately, I have a solid partner to tag team with. Lately, when we have mother/daughter conversations, my girls share with me what Dad did for them on those days I was out at a council meeting or event or how Abe Grandma, who lived with us, would take them to the bank to get the free cookies they put out for the customers or bring them the best frozen yogurt ever.
The cancer experience provided for me new perspectives on life—the realization that health and family are foremost, that each day is precious and to be lived with gratitude and without regret, and a reaffirmation of my commitment to make a difference in our community.
Yet, there was also the time when Aili and I went to help at a local homeless shelter, and on the way home, as I blurted out “Isn’t it nice to do something for other people and help the less fortunate,” Aili responded with “Mom, you make me feel like other people’s problems are more important than mine.” It was a while later that I learned that Aili was dealing with bullying and some mental health challenges as she navigated through the tough times of middle school. I realized I needed to care for my family first to be effective in caring for the community.
When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015, my first thought was that I needed to battle it out and beat the cancer because my girls were too young to not have a mom. I tried my best to lead as normal a life as possible between the mastectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation treatments, taking the girls to their afterschool activities and missing just one city council meeting to have the reconstructive surgery. I was being the stereotypical stoic Asian, trying to “be strong” for the girls and grit it out. I learned later from them that because I didn’t share with them what I was experiencing, the unknown scared them, and so I should have been open with them and included them in the journey I had to take. The cancer experience provided for me new perspectives on life—the realization that health and family are foremost, that each day is precious and to be lived with gratitude and without regret, and a reaffirmation of my commitment to make a difference in our community.
As the girls have grown older, I’ve seen through their eyes that society has progressed in some respects. We see the rise in women’s sports where the Women’s March Madness Finals had a larger viewership than the men’s finale. BTS, a Korean boy group, is the world’s biggest musical act; when back in the day, when I was a teen, it was New Kids on the Block—an all-white boy band.
However, at times, my girls have come home from school upset at being called an anime character or dealing with the model minority myth and the assumptions that they are just fine and don’t need help when, in fact, they live in this great pressure cooker called Silicon Valley. Then the 2016 presidential election happened, an unbelievable pandemic shut down the world, Asians were being blamed for the Kung Flu and anti-Asian hate spikes, the nation faced racial reckoning with the George Floyd incident, and climate change is right in front of us. That’s more than a lot for our youth to be dealing with, and there’s so much more work to be done.
In our dinner conversations discussing these events and the environment that my girls are in as they transition to adulthood, it reaffirms my determination to do what I can to ensure that there is a bright future for my girls, their generation and those who follow. I admit it also warms my heart to hear from my girls that they have gained an understanding of why Mom does what she does and that it is out of my simple desire to do good “for the sake of our children.”
Margaret Abe-Koga, Class XXII, is a Mountain View City Councilmember and former Mayor. She is currently running for the Santa Clara County Board of Supervisors, District 5.
About Making Waves | AAPI Voices
This article is part of the Making Waves – AAPI Voices project by ALF Silicon Valley’s AAPI Caucus. Through an ongoing series of letters and other forms of creative expression by ALF Senior Fellow guest contributors, we aim to share the experiences of Asian Americans & Pacific Islanders (AAPIs) with the broader ALF network. We are proud of AAPIs’ contributions to our multiracial society and believe we can help strengthen our community and democracy by sharing our stories to build understanding and solidarity.
View all current contributions to this series here.
The title of this project, Making Waves – AAPI Voices, is inspired by the book Making Waves, An Anthology of Writings By and About Asian American Women. We thank editor Dr. Elaine Kim and Asian Women United of California for their groundbreaking work and permission to use the title.
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