A Day in the Life
"Get your asses up!" he yelled, and then followed it up with, "if you're going with me to the beach, you better be ready in ten minutes, and R-," yelling at me, "get my nets and put them in the back of the truck." I groaned, each net was like twenty pounds, and I was always moaning and groaning trying to get them up over the side of the truck.
When I got outside, excited despite myself, the sun wasn't even up on this Saturday morning. My brother and I rushed around getting us some rice to put in a seaweed wrap and an ume seed with soy sauce to take for our breakfast. We loved these Saturdays at the beach with our soon to be step-father. We got to go to the beach and play or fish while our soon to be step-father fished. Today it was a cool 70° before the sun was up, and L- and I were in the back of the truck and on our way.
I have to tell you about this truck. It was a pee-yellow Chevy Luv pickup, and it was more rust than anything else. The floorboards were rubber mats and the bed had more holes than a sieve. L- and I sat on the tire wells, the only solid metal in the back. The salt-water in the air had done its work on this bad boy, but we loved sitting back here, riding to the beach. We got to watch the sun come up over the horizon over the ocean. It was so awesome! We passed Haleiwa Beach Park, Waiamea Bay, shark's Cove, sunset Beach, Pipeline, all on the way to Kuilima, where he liked to fish. Our favorite past-times on the twenty to thirty minute ride was to sing the songs from our favorite movie, Grease! We would sing to the morning sunrise:
"Stranded at the Drive In..
Branded a fool
What will they say
Monday at school.
Chick a doo doo, chick a doo doo
Sandy, Baby
I'm in misery."
or
"Go greased lightning
going on a quarter mile
Greased lighting, go greased lightning
With a four speed on the floor..."
or
or some other song from our favorite movie of all time (Star Wars wasn't out yet).
Man there was nothing to compare to those cool mornings with me and L- in the back of that pickup. This was, for sure, our time. At six and seven years old, going to the beach was freedom - and a chance to know what it was like to have a real dad. Because during these times, our soon to be stepfather was actually nice.
Once we got to the beach, we were allowed to go and do whatever we wanted. We'd go over to the resort side of Kuilima and talk to the people vacationing, or walk all the way to Makoni Beach and swim. We could fish or do whatever. The day was ours. And sometimes, if the Manapua man came, 'he' would even give us a dollar to buy some treats. It was one of the rare times that our not yet step-father was nice to us, that he did not seek to scare us or shame us. It was during times like this that L- and I talked about asking 'him' to let us call him "Dad" because all the bad stuff was forgotten for awhile. (Note: He refused to let us call him Dad when I did finally ask).
One time, he even laughed with us when we told him about the naked man and woman we saw in the trees (we only saw their head and shoulders) looking out at us. (There was a nudist commune in the woods). When we went out like this, he was always nice to us. He would even show us what he was doing if we asked. Looking back, I think maybe he was nice because there were so many other people around at these times, but at that time, to my brother and I, there at the beach with our not yet step-father, for a little while we knew what it was like to have a dad, and it seemed like there was nothing wrong in the world.
I was always shocked - until I was older - at how fast things changed when we got home. Part of me wanted to stay at the beach forever, even though I knew we couldn't. It never failed, though, that as soon as we drove into the yard at home, the fun was over. And if I forgot for a moment how things actually were, 'his' fist was a sure reminder that would not hesitate to remind me of my actual place in the world.
I loved these times at the beach.
The fantasy world I was able to create with my soon to be step-father was the world I always longed for with a father who loved me, hell a father period.
The few hours every weekend always seemed worth the fear and pain in between. I know that is a child's ability and now, all these years later, I see how the trauma in between the fantasies damaged me in ways that I couldn't know, wouldn't know until decades later.
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1 The Love and Hate of Being Born
My mom was Fifteen years old when my oldest brother was born at least a month early. From his first breath he struggled to hold on to life but was not strong enough to stay with us and died after twelve hours, held by his Mom only once before being put on the incubation machine.
About fourteen or so months later, my next oldest brother was born, also about a month early. He too struggled to stay alive, and he finally took his last breath about twenty five hours after he took his first breath. My Mother disconsolate and went into a depression. She was only sixteen years old and had already lost two children.
Keep reading2 The First Touch
After almost two years on the mainland I was back in Hawaii. I know it was about two years because I had graduated from Mary Moppet's pre-school, and I had attended Kindergarten. I did not realize it at the time, but we had returned because my father had killed himself. We got back in December; the only reason I know that is because my birthday was a few days later. It was 1976, and I was turning six years old.
My birthday party was celebrated at my uncle P—'s and Auntie L—'s house and all my cousins were there. Their house was on a hill and the beach was right across the street. The view was an awesome sight, one that I can recall even now with absolute clarity. The chocolate cake with fudge icing and rocky road ice cream were my favorites, and the party with all the new people was a happy affair. That all changed a little later.
Keep reading3 The Day Everything Changed
I stepped into the bathroom stall then turned and locked the door. When I turned and started undoing my pants, I noticed several books on the floor. My mind took a moment to ponder what it meant, but the reality was that I had to go and get back out to my hamburger and chocolate shake. It only took a moment to get my pants undone, and just as I was about to start peeing someone knocked on the door. I froze in fear, hurrying to button my pants back up before I said anything.
"Hey, I forgot my books. Can you open the door and hand them to me?" came the voice on the other side of the door. I was still a little freaked out, but his words and the logic of them made sense enough to my seven year old brain that most of my anxiety faded. I reached down and grabbed the books and unlocked the door, and my whole world changed forever.
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It was so cold; everyone (Mom and brother) except me was sick. It was one of the first winters that I spent away from my original birthplace. I loved the snow. The house was dark and warm. The heater was going full blast but my 21-year-old mother was shivering like it was freezing in our little apartment. My little four-year-old self was so very worried about her. “Is there anything I can do for you Mom?” I asked her with all of my concern written all over my face.
“Fix dinner for you and L—, okay?” she said in barely a whisper. I shop my head up and down, yes I would do that.
Keep reading6 At 8 Years Old, I Had No Filter
I was 8 years old when I was sent to live with Granma and Grandpa, along with my brother and 3 of my cousins. I think that my mom and Aunt Susan wanted a break, and maybe there was some money involved. They sold it to us as some grand adventure with our grandparents. I think it was a little bit of everything.
The plane ride over was an adventure in itself. Imagine being an 8 year-old boy, the oldest of 5 unchaperoned boys on a 9 hour flight. We had a blast walking around, talking to people, and making a general nuisance of ourselves. I bet the flight attendants were glad when the flight was over.
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