Weedflower: A reading response.

Sumiko is the odd puzzle piece in the box. The piece that you know is in the puzzle but never seems to fit. Sumiko’s like that. Weedflower is set at the beginning of World War II, and in California, everything is as it could be, if that includes Sumiko never truly fitting in because she is Japanese. Nevertheless, she always has her family beside her and the flowers that her family raises. Then the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor and Sumiko’s life changes as her and her family are sent to live in concentration camps. Sumiko doesn’t fit in with the kids in the camp either, but she learns how to make the most of what she has and be herself.
Sumiko has never fit in. She is the only Japanese-American in her class, is never invited to parties, and is never invited to hang out at someone’s house. Then she gets an invitation to a birthday party. She is very excited. I’m excited before a party, but Sumiko’s excitement must be ten times mine. She thinks of every detail, including what to wear and what to give as a present. When she arrives, the girl’s mother meets her at the door. The mother tells her that the father has friends over that do not think highly of Japanese, and Sumiko cannot enter the house. Sumiko is crushed. It’s horrible that racism could prevent an innocent girl from going to a birthday party.
When the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor, even the American government started discriminating against anyone Japanese. Sumiko’s family is split up and put into concentration camps. There, Sumiko is alone. The other children are a bit wild and prefer stealing and causing trouble. Instead, Sumiko makes friends with Mr. Moko, and helps him raise a garden. Even though she is far from home, she finds a way to be happy by focusing on her garden. Have you heard of the expression “If life hands you lemons, make lemonade”? Sumiko does just that.
Sumiko persevered under harsh circumstances, and I wish that I could have the strength that she has. One thing that you notice in this book and even in other books about racism in America is that America has many things to be shameful of. Don’t get me wrong, I love this country, but reading about racism makes me cringe and even feel a little ashamed knowing what has been done to some people because of who they are. Someday, I hope, “all men will be created equal.”