CAN’T REMEMBER I first learned about it; it was just something in the collective of our family history, something in the air the Nakadas breathed. There were books with photos on the living room bookshelf, and Dad spoke casually about life in “camp.” Whenever his sisters and brothers were around, if there were questions about when something occurred, it was either before or after camp, this bookmark in their lives of the war and of removal. I bore witness directly from the generation who lived the experience of incarceration. But now, a generation later, I wondered how my kids would learn about this scar that marked our family and our country’s past.