Mimi, my grandmother, is the best person to help me. She's quiet and softspoken and endlessly patient. My family is Japanese, and Mimi and my grandfather (who died long before I was born) brought my mother to the United States when Mom was just a little girl. Mom has no accent whatsoever (neither does my father, who also came to the United States
as a small child), but Mimi has this pleasant, rolling accent that reminds me of a ship at sea. And she is polite, polite, polite, never speaking a harsh word.
I got out my social studies text.
"What do we have between the covers of this book?" asked Mimi, who thinks books are eyes into the hearts and lives of other people (peoples?). She told me so once.
"Social studies," I replied. "We read chapter three in class today. Now we have to answer the discussion questions at the end of the chapter. . . . Mimi, if they're discussion questions, why aren't we discussing them? How come Mr. Miller is making us write them down?"
"I do not know, my Claudia, but if that is the assignment, then you must complete it as your teacher wishes."
"I know." Boy, did I know. A few weeks ago, I would have written down one-word answers or skipped the assignment altogether. Now there was no way out.
I began to write. Mimi looked on, every now and then pointing out a misspelled word or suggesting that I check my punctuation. After social studies came math and then English, and at last I was done. I breathed a sigh that was relief mixed with boredom.