1 . In 1948, Ladies Home Journal selected our family for its “How America Lives” feature. The reporter and photographer arrived at the end of May and followed all of us (Mom, Dad, my brother, sister and me) for a week, recording our every move. Everyone was pretty excited about it, especially in our town of 6,000, where things like this just didn’t happen.

Since the article would be published in early December, we had to pretend it was already autumn. The reporter asked mom to cook and serve a complete Thanksgiving meal. She told Mom to “go all out” and use her best holiday dishes for the feast.

Mom’s face fell. She didn’t want to admit that our best dishes weren’t exactly the best, let alone suitable for a national magazine. While the reporter continued with her interview, the photographer quietly excused himself and slipped away for over an hour. When he came back, he had a large box, which he placed on the floor, telling Mom to open it.

Her mouth wide open, her face lit up as if it was Christmas. Inside was a beautiful set of 12 dishes, each painted with patterns of flowers and golden brims (金边), made by the Homer Laughlin China Co. There was even a soup bowl, something we kids had never seen before. Mom was near tears as she lovingly handled each piece.

When it came time to serve dinner, Mom walked slowly from the kitchen with the lovely new plate, which contained a small “turkey” (in reality, a large chicken).

From that day on, Mom made sure they never saw the light of day unless it was a major event, though they were a must at every Thanksgiving.

I carry on the tradition, using the dishes for our Thanksgiving feast. But I serve a real turkey, and I serve it on the real Thanksgiving Day.

3 . My sister, Lynn, taught me my first word: kira-kira. I pronounced it ka-a-ahhh, but she knew what I meant. Kira-kira means “glittering” in Japanese. Lynn told me that when I was a baby, she used to take me onto our empty road at night, where we would lie on our backs and look at the stars while she said over and over, “Katie, say ‘kira-kira, kira-kira!’” I loved that word! When I grew older, I used kira-kira to describe everything I liked: the beautiful blue sky, puppies, kittens, butterflies, colored tissues.

My mother said we were misusing the word; you could not call colored tissues kira-kira. She was dismayed over how un-Japanese we were and swore to send us to Japan one day. I didn’t care where she sent me, so long as Lynn came along.

When she wasn’t in school, she stayed with me constantly. Both our parents worked. Officially, I stayed all day with a lady from down the road, but unofficially, Lynn was the one who took care of me.

My sister used to keep a diary. Today I keep her diary in a drawer next to my bed. I like to see how her memories were the same as mine, but also different. For instance, one of my earliest memories is of the day Lynn saved my life. I was almost five, and she was almost nine. We were playing on the empty road near our house. Fields of tall corn stretched into the distance wherever you looked. A dirty gray dog ran out of the field near us, and then he ran back in. Lynn loved animals. Her long black hair disappeared into the corn as she chased the dog. The summer sky was clear and blue. I felt a brief fear as Lynn disappeared into the cornstalks. After Lynn ran into the field, I couldn’t see anything but corn. “Lynnie!” I shouted. We weren’t that far from our house, but I felt scared. I burst into tears.

Somehow or other, Lynn got behind me and said, “Boo!” and I cried some more. She just laughed and hugged me and said, “You’re the best little sister in the world!” I liked it when she said that, so I stopped crying.

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