In 1990 I was in the Navy and homeported on a ship at San Diego Naval Station. One Sunday afternoon I was riding the San Diego Trolley back to base after a day spent downtown when the woman next to me struck up a conversation. By then I had been in town long enough to become attuned to those mentally ill people who occasionally rode the trolley and sometimes caused disturbances. At first I thought this woman was one of those sadly disturbed individuals but she was somehow different. A elderly Japanese woman who spoke broken English, she seemed friendly. Certainly harmless enough.

She struck up a conversation, asking if I was in the Navy and I responded yes. With this she gave an even bigger smile.

“My husband NAVY!” she beamed.
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