Tuesday, April 21, 1942
I never thought I looked different from the other kids. Never once, even though most of them are Caucasian, except for Billy Smith, who's a Negro, and Charles Hamada, who's part Japanese, part jerk. But now I realized my face was different. My hair was black. My skin was yellow. My eyes were narrow. It never seemed to matter before, but it sure did matter now. Now my face was the face of the enemy.