Jeanne's narrative reveals her insecurity among roughneck, streetwise kids, an unease exacerbated by her unfamiliarity with the Japanese language. A change in schools, unsettling to any young child, introduces her to the beginning of a pattern of anti-Asian sentiment from her Boyle Heights teacher, who rejects her. The eventual move to Manzanar, in Jeanne's estimation, seems almost a relief because it distances Japanese Americans from racist attacks. Jeanne sums up the tenuous state of affairs in a single sentence: "They were as frightened of the Caucasians as Caucasians were of us."
Among internees, Jeanne, an exuberant child who is obviously too young to muster outrage or bitterness, yells from the window of the bus as it arrives at Owens Valley, "Hey! This whole bus is full of Wakatsukis!" Later, she laughs at olive-drab government issue earmuffs, caps, peacoats, and leggings left over from World War I. To her, the family looks clownish in oversized GI attire. Her humor dims, however, as chronic diarrhea from typhoid shots and spoiled food sends her to foul latrines. Meaningful details, such as the need for cardboard shields around toilets and blankets to separate beds, demonstrate the repugnance that fastidious Japanese women feel as a result of their undeserved privations. The belief that "it can't be helped" and the courtesy with which they respect each other delineate deeply ingrained survivalism that makes life bearable in the desert camp.
