Ken Mochizuki is the author of the picture books Baseball Saved Us, Heroes, Passage to Freedom: the Sugihara Story, Be Water My Friend: the Early Years of Bruce Lee (all Lee & Low Books) and the young adult novel Beacon Hill Boys (Scholastic Press). He lives in Seattle, Washington.

One of the first literary portrayals of myself I was exposed to as an elementary school student of Asian descent in the early'60s was the picture book, Five Chinese Brothers.

We all know the story: five Chinese brothers in ancient China, who all look exactly alike wearing queues and with slanted slits for eyes and the same silly grins forever stuck on their faces, cannot be executed because they are totally interchangeable. Each has a special skill that cheats death: one has an iron neck to prevent beheading, another can hold his breath forever to prevent smothering. Was there some kind of subliminal, "yellow peril" message being sent here, as in they never die and you can't get rid of'em?

And all the other books with Asian characters were fairy tales, mostly from Japan and China at that time. There was nothing on our American experience. For my American generation of Japanese descent, we had parents born here in America, grandparents from Japan; we knew we were Americans. But we had no history, no idea how we got where we were. Trying to get our parents to talk about the past was a dead end - they just didn't want to.

We Asian kids were hungry for our own heroes back then. And if we didn't see ourselves in books, we tried to find ourselves on TV. Bill Cosby was a big deal to us because he was the first actor of color to star in a TV series, "I Spy." So was George Takei who played "Mr. Sulu" in the original "Star Trek" series. Mr. Sulu, the helmsman of the Starship Enterprise, didn't have much to do or say - mostly "Aye, Captain" or "Warp One, Captain" - but just the fact that he existed meant a lot to us. And when there was Bruce Lee's Kato character on "The Green Hornet," my Japanese American friends had discussions: "Kato is a Japanese last name - we have friends with that last name - so he [the Kato character] is really Japanese."

Other than those rare instances of existing in American media and pop culture, if we existed at all we existed negatively as the enemy soldiers, as the villains, as the timid sidekicks. And, especially with books, there was nothing to feed our starved self-esteems. We were desperate for anything that validated our existence, that indicated we were not invisible in our own country. I wish we had had the children's books by Asian American authors that we have now back then. We would have had a much more positive view of ourselves.

This is why I write the books that I do: that we have a long, proud history in America and we need to know it. I don't want to see history repeat itself, to see other generations go through what mine did. And, of course, I also do it so that America at large will know our stories; so they will know we have been Americans for a long time.

Over 10 years ago at an International Reading Association national convention, I saw two teachers come across the Spanish-language version of my book Baseball Saved Us, the story of a young Japanese American boy playing baseball in an American incarceration camp for Japanese Americans during World War II. The teachers were laughing: "Isn't this funny - a Japanese story in Spanish?"

Excuse me, it's an American story! And the Spanish-language version exists so we Americans can start learning about each other. In the words of the esteemed historian and author Ronald Takaki, who wrote the seminal book on Asian American history, Strangers From A Different Shore: "Either we start learning about each other, or we're on the road to Bosnia."

And more of my encounters with others further reinforce why four out of five of my books (if you count Bruce Lee growing up in Hong Kong as part of an American story) are about our American experience: because we are often, till this day, not seen as being fellow Americans.

During the past 14 years, I have given presentations about my books at schools, libraries, community centers and conventions all over the country. I tell audiences that I have never been to Japan, cannot speak Japanese, that I was born in Seattle and so were my parents (my grandparents were from Japan, but lived in America for most of their lives). Yet, I have been complimented on my ability to speak English (the only language I know). I get asked, "Where are you from?" and when I reply "Seattle," I am further asked, "But, where are you really from?" This still happens today. During decades past, strangers that I had not antagonized in any way have yelled at me: "Go back to where you came from!"

Once, after finishing this detailed explanation during a school presentation, a fifth grader asked me, "How long have you been in this country?" Even an adult asked me afterward, "So, Ken, when you write, do you think in Japanese, and then translate it into English?" At a recent children's literature conference in Illinois, a teacher would greet me with "Ohayo gozaimasu" (Japanese for "good morning") and even after my presentation would tell me "sayonara."

Okay, some adults are never going to get it that it's useless to talk to me about all things Japanese because I'm an American. But those experiences demonstrate that Asian Americans have a long way to go to be perceived as the "American" part.

Therefore, I cannot stress this enough: more children's, middle grade and young adult books about our Asian American experiences, please. Yes, books by and about Asians and Asian Americans have come a long way since they were practically nonexistent during the era of  Five Chinese Brothers. Linda Sue Park's A Single Shard and, just a few years later, Cynthia Kadohata's Kira Kira have been awarded the Holy Grail of children's literature, the Newbery Award. Okay, we've reached the pinnacle in the world of children's literature. Now, let's apply that to the outside world, to the day when we'll be seen as Americans who just happen to be of Asian descent.

But there are some encouraging signs that today's students might not become like some of the adults I've encountered. I receive "fan mail" from students all over the United States. Usually, it is from students in earlier grades, and it is of the variety of a drawing with text beneath. They acknowledge that they have learned of an American experience, and when they draw characters from my books, not once has it been done stereotypically. There have been no slanted slits for eyes or silly grins stuck on faces. Why? Because those of Asian descent are not illustrated that way in my books. Not like in Five Chinese Brothers...

Posted May 2007