My 1965 World

Ching-chong, ching-chong, the little blond haired boy sang out, craning his neck to stare at me, his mother jerking on his chubby arm to move him along.

"Stop that now!" she whispered. "We don't talk like that about other people."

"What kind of lady is that, mama?"

"Why, I think she is Chinese."

It's 1965, Atlanta, Georgia, America, U.S.A. The light blue Oleg Cassini-designed airline uniform I wore was topped with a matching hat. We Asians all looked alike then, and so it would mean nothing if I told them that I am Japanese, from Hawaiʻi.