Striking the Balance (written by Andrew)

I went for a run this morning.

The blue sky was dotted playfully with wispy clouds, as a fair breeze blew across my face. It felt great to be out on the road with the sound of crunching gravel beneath my feet, as I playfully dodged piles of horse poop scattered before me. As beads of sweat formed on my forehead, I began to think about a copy of Men's Health Magazine that came in the mail the other day. I wouldn't normally order this magazine but it was part of an offer that I took advantage of one sordid evening a couple of months back.

Some of you may remember a couple of blogs ago, I wrote about our housesitting experience at Erin and Ryan's. I talked about having a love affair with their shower and being blissed out by ice cubes. Well, other elicit activities took place while we stayed at the magical house. Every night after Bodhi went to sleep we would turn the lights down, get cozy on the sofa, and stare at this black rectangle box called a TV. We couldn't resist.

One night while caressing the remote, we came across a Kevin Trudeau infomercial, he was selling a book about how to get free money. Wow, free money! Who doesn't want free money? In a hypnotic trance, I dialed the 1-800 number and ordered the book. As part of the sale they were offering magazine subscription trials. If you tried a magazine, free for 60 days, you could get all of these gift certificates for places like Home Depot. WOOHOO! Free money--sign me up. So about six weeks later, a copy of Men's Health Magazine arrived at my PO Box.

Kim and I watch TV like we drink alcohol. We don't do it very often and when we do, we try to enjoy it as much as we can without feeling guilty. And where we may let Bodhi try a sip of wine or beer, he'll never get a full glass. And so it goes with the TV as well. Bodhi goes to a beautiful school that works really hard to keep the children free from media. I actually saw one of his teachers flinch ever so slightly when one of the kids in the class mentioned--Spongebob. It was as if the kid said, "Hey eff you lady." It was kind of funny at the time, but I really see the importance of what they are doing at the school. They are holding that space of innocence for our child during a time when his imagination is starting to bloom. It's a beautiful thing to have your child's creativity fostered in this way and not bombarded by the tremendous over-stimuli that comes pumping out of the TV. We've heard the comment that Bodhi goes to a hippie school, and yes it is a bit that way, but we like it like that. I think it is better, at four, that Bodhi is in a touchy-feely school environment, rather than knowing the latest antics of Spongebob.

For a really good discourse on the state of TV in the 1950s and the present day, see pioneer television journalist, Edward Murrow's speech in the amazing 2005 George Clooney film, Good Night and Good Luck. Check it out on Youtube--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cfwsfGqgPM

Anyway, speaking of media, the Men's Health Magazine was floating in my head this morning during my run. It's been about ten years since I last picked up an issue and it certainly has changed. It used to have articles about work out routines, diet regimes, or fitness product reviews. But this issue, that I contemplated on my run, was just full of sex advice. I'm not a prude about sex, maybe on an unconscious level, that is why it was playing on my mind. But what was really sticking out for me was an article that they had on different levels of fitness at different times in one's life. The article was saying that for men that are 40+ like me, it's most important to focus on flexibility and strength. Wow! There's something to meditate on--flexibility and strength.

I think about being the bull with the tenacity to push forward towards one's goals combined with the willingness of the butterfly to trust the winds of life to take it where it needs to be. Balance seems to be the key here. Balance with everything, even the TV.

I leave you with another gem from Bodhi--So a few mornings ago as Bodhi is using the sawdust toilet, he turns to me and asks, "Dad, how come our toilet is outside? I want a bathroom inside the house."--Flexibility and strength.

And so it is.

Transitions (written by Kim)

Our son is turning 4 this Thursday. I keep asking myself---how did that happen? Cliche, yes! But, it does happen so fast. And I have two years of photos to print and six months of video to upload. Gonna be pulling some late nights.

Once we get a steady stream of electricity that is.

We left Oahu with a commitment--to be authentic. It was not the outer geography of the destination that was important, but rather, the inner geography of the soul. Thank you for following this journey with us. These past few months have been filled with a lot of questions, a lot of discussions, a lot of confusion and finally a lot of clarity.

HERE IS WHAT WE ARE CLEAR ABOUT:

1. We value community. And although you can call on your friendly neighbors up on the land, the nearest one is a mile away and no one in our vicinity has kids. Our dear friends were originally going to be living on the property next to ours, but their plans changed and now, so have ours.

2. Our son is a city kid and I admit it---so are we! In our great desire for authentic, suck the marrow out life experiences, moving to an off-grid cabin in the woods with a toddler in tow ranks pretty high on the scale of raw and juicy. Contrast brings clarity. And we are clear now that we love on demand electricity, refrigeration and toilets that don't need dumping. You also know of my husband's deep affection for hot showers and ice.

What does Bodhi want to do in his free time?
Walk in our abundant woods? No.
Run around on our huge "lawn"? No.
Get dirty? No.

He wants to see his friends. He wants to go to the astronomy center, the ocean center, the playground or the zoo. He wants to go to Aunty Karen's house and so do we.


Here are some recent gem's from Bodhi:
-"Mom, do you know what I'm going to dream about tonight?"--"Flush Toilets."

-"Mom, we need smooth roads, not bumpy ones. And a gate that opens easy."

-"Dad, I want county water."
(While in the bath, Andrew told him not to blow bubbles with the catchment water--he could do that at Aunty Karen's house because she has county water)

-Andrew:
"Kim, the block ice is melting faster in the cooler now that it's warmer. It only lasted 4 days. We gotta go to the store today."
Bodhi:
"Dad, you just need to get a refrigerator. That'll fix it for you."


Our long term plan for the land was to build a very comfortable homestead---but I ask you, how long shall we wait for comfort? And when will the community come to our 9.26 acres?



3. We love Hilo. It's the perfect town for us. It has character and charm. It has good local restaurants and Starbuck's. It's not too fast---not too slow--it's just right.


4. We love to work together and we love to write. We have been tossing around income producing ideas for months. Searching for just the right authentic vehicle. Desiring to answer Andrew's mom's favorite question, "But, how you goin' live!?"

We jumped, knowing the net would appear. We thought that net was the land and all the opportunities for growth held in it's forested arms, but now we know the land was the way the universe got us to come home. We would have never moved back to the Big Island without it. And we remember our dear friend, Lois, telling us once---"The Big Island is nice....you should move back there."

We listened Lois. The land was not our net, but rather our springboard. We leave it's beautiful potential to it's next steward. We leave it grateful for the gifts it has given us. Our family is truly grateful for the simple things and will always value living simply and lightly on the earth. I know that makes Lois proud.

So what is that income producing activity? Freelance Commercial Writing. Check out our website: www.prunecopywriting.com


HERE IS THE PLAN:

-We have listed the land for sale and we know that the right person will buy it at the right time.
-We have launched our copywriting business with passion and gusto
-We are making future plans for a move into Hilo town
-We are grateful for the cabin we live in and plan to stay there until the right time to move becomes clear
-We continue to stay authentic and true to ourselves

As you adjust your sails, the geography may change along the journey, but the destination is always the same--home, to yourself.


Our first ever blog entry---Andrew wrote, "I'm going to the woods because I, like Thoreau, wished to live deliberately." Even Thoreau moved back to the city. I am glad we are in good company.



(For you Dear Darrell S.---thank you for the gentle nudge to write. We've been wanting to for awhile)

The Simple Life?

I've been having an affair.

Kim, Bodhi, and I are housesitting for our friends Ryan and Erin while they take their two little ones to visit family in Minnesota. Ryan and Erin have a beautiful home in the Hawaiian Shores subdivision. As the sun goes down nightly, we sit on their covered lanai and look out at the vast Pacific Ocean. The expanse goes on, seeming endless, until it touches shore with the west coast of the Continental U.S. As the sun goes down we step into the house, I flick a switch and lights come on magically powered by some electric source far, far, away. I go into the kitchen, turn on the faucet and a flood of water, clean enough to drink, pours over my hands and onto the evening dishes. Best of all, after Bodhi is down for the night, I step quietly into the bathroom, take off my clothes and move into the embrace of a perfectly pressured hot shower.

I am in love . . . I think.

What happens when the romance dies?

A few months ago we posted up a blog titled Humanure 101. It showed the steps we take to manage our bathroom waste out on the land. In the entry, the whole process of taking the five gallon buckets out to the compost heap, dumping,and washing had a fiercely rugged and romantically independent feel to it. A few days ago, I was out at the compost heap piling our human waste into the bins and rather than feeling rugged, I felt grossed out.

Our water system, which a few months ago seemed, to me, to be something grand, along the lines of the Roman Aqueducts, just recently produced water with little mosquito larvae wriggling in it.

There have been many occasions where Kim and I have huddled around three flashlights to read at night, our rechargeable lamps completely crapped out because the solar panels didn't charge them enough during the day. It felt a lot like one of the opening scenes of Sam Mendes' 2009 film, Away We Go. Two of the main characters, Verona--played by Maya Rudolph and Burt--played by John Krasinski, sit in the dark of their living room. It's the dead of winter and the electricity is out, they are expecting a baby and they are unsure of how life will unfold for them.

Verona: Are we screw ups?
Burt: What do you mean?
Verona: I mean we're 34.
Burt: 33
Verona: We don't even have the basic things figured out.
Burt: We're not screw ups.
Verona: We have cardboard windows.

So are we screw ups or are we just people with some 21st Century sensibilities living like 19th Century pioneers?

One of the initial thoughts we had as we embarked on this journey to the land was that we wanted to live deliberately. Like Thoreau we wanted, " to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Thoreau and his New England Transcendentalist sought refuge from the industrial ecomomy amidst nature and the simple life. The Transcendentalists lacked the urban rebelliousness of their European Bohemian counterparts, but they both stood in opposition of the Bourgeois sensibilities of the time.

So are we just expressing some kind of Bohemian rebellion out in the woods? Aren't you supposed to get that kind of stuff out of your system in your 20s?

The other day, Kim, Bodhi and I were having a meal in the outside eating area of Island Naturals in Pahoa. A group of white 20 something girls with rasta dreads were on the same long table as us. They excitedly talked about the communal living situation they were in and how cool it was that there were no showers and only cold baths and how fantastic it was to live without electricity.
After they left, I looked at Kim and said, "Oh my God! We're living like 20 year olds."
Kim smiled and corrected me saying, "No, at least we own our land."

At that moment I wanted to go back to Erin and Ryan's place open up the freezer, feel the blast of cold air hit my face, fill my glass with endless amounts of ice, sit on the sofa basking in the glow of light powered up by those magicians at HELCO, sipping delicious cold,cold,cold water with the condensation getting my hands wet as I fantasized about my next hot shower.

Kim and I are pretty simple people, but admittedly we do really like nice things. Writer David Brooks coined the term Bobo--Bourgeois-Bohemian to describe those that have wed the bourgeois world of capitalist enterprise to the hippie values of the bohemian counterculture. According to Brooks, for example, a bobo believes that spending $15,000 on a media center is vulgar, but spending $15,000 on a slate shower stall so that you can experience the Zenlike rhythms of nature is a necessity. We have found ourselves in the midst of this nuptial relationship.

Can we, like Thoreau, suck the marrow out of life while zooming down the highway in our Volvo XC90 with the air conditioning booming out full blast? Can we live deliberately while enjoying some of the fine amenities 21st Century living has to offer?

I believe the answer to both questions is a resounding "yes".

I am reminded of a story I was told at the Huna workshop I attended in March. The story was about Master Kumu Hula Uncle George Naope. The story goes that Uncle George was talking to a group and asked them if anyone knew, "My Little Grass Shack." Hands went up in the air and spontaneously the audience starting singing,
"I wanna go back to my little grass shack in Kealakekua Hawaii. . ."
In the midst of the audiences' rendition, Uncle George leans into the microphone and says, "Not me."
This man, who was the keeper and steward of a very sacred and very traditional art form, more than happily embraced the modern world. I believe that he was aware of himself, so that he could function deliberately in both the modern and traditional worlds.

I believe the key to living deliberately is attentiveness. Are we truly attentive to what is going on around us? Are we aware of the elements around us, whether we are dumping our human waste into a compost heap or downloading a new app onto our iphone? Are we aware that we live in a vast field of energy that connects all of us and that from this vast field we create our reality?

Awareness will guide us in the right direction to keep life zesty and romantic.
Awareness will help us realize how delicious the marrow is as we are sucking it out of life no matter how we do it.

Isn't it ironic that Thoreau used the marrow metaphor even though he was a vegetarian? I guess crunching all the fiber out of a carrot stick isn't as poetic.

Dad Remembered

At my father's memorial service my two brothers, my niece, my three nephews and I delivered our own eulogies for my dad. Here is a copy of my eulogy as shared on April 23, 2010 at the Pearl City Community Church in Pearl City Hawaii.


I want to start by telling a story.

When I was a little boy, my dad would take me boogie boarding out at Kahe Point. We drove to the beach with the windows down, the warm leeward breeze blowing into our old green Plymouth Valiant, swirling around the smell of cigarettes as dad took long drags from his Kools, making huge plumes of dragon like smoke come out of his nostrils while concentrating on the road. From the back seat I could see his face in the rear view mirror. A little bit of weekend stubble grew on his chin.
On AM radio K-59 Patti Page sang out asking,
“How much is that doggie in the window?”
I would “arf, arf” to myself along with the song.
The anticipation of being at the beach was so exciting.
I felt so free.
Everything was left behind.

At the beach our bags were quickly unloaded. With shirts pulled off and swim trunks on, Dad and I walked to the water, the boogie board dragging behind us like a dog on a leash. The clear water shimmered with sparkles from the sun.

It was so deep and so blue.

Dad plunged in first. The water flowed through his receding hairline as I splashed in after him.

Dad stood waist deep, as I lay prone on the board waiting for my ride. He had a gift for finding the right wave.
“OK you ready?”
I clenched tighter on the board as dad started his countdown,
“3. . . 2. . .1. . .” WHOOOSH!
He launched me down, down,—Deeper and Deeper into the face of the wave.
Ocean spray in my face; I could smell the sea and taste the salt on my lips as I slid onto the sandy beach.

I turned around and saw dad swimming out into the dark, out into the deep. He did one final stroke and rolled over on his back. His round, white, middle-aged belly seemed mountainous as he lay flat, floating at the surface of the water. His arms spread out to capture as much of the sun as he could and his ears lay just below the surface of the water so he could experience the silence of the sea. There he lay, so even, so buoyant, so anchor free. In the bright quiet of the day he just drifted, drifted, drifted away.

He was so relaxed.

Dad did a lot of things for me throughout his life. But there was one thing he never did. . .

He never fed me fear.

I grew up with the luxury of knowing that my dad would never physically punish me. It was not in his nature. He was a very gentle man.

“Ho I going get lickens from my dad” my friends would cry out when we got busted.

Any time I took a misstep in my behavior or I somehow missed the mark, I knew I would get a calm talk from my dad.

Senior Year of High School—I’m driving to the Winterball with my date. I make a right turn into the parking structure of the Ilikai Hotel—crash--car door smashed—I was in the wrong lane to make that turn. Nobody was hurt. At the pay phone I nervously dialed home—one ring, two rings, three rings—“Hello” said a low voice—thank God it was dad. He listened to my story and calmly told me to go enjoy my dance, there was nothing we could do about it then, we would work it out in the morning.

He took the time to understand situations without ever resorting to anger.

Growing up I felt confident in exploring my world without being hedged in by walls built up by fear. This kind of gentle approach carried on into college.

When it came time for me to decide on a major for college, I asked dad his opinion. He looked at me and said something very important—for him college was not a trade school, rather it was an opportunity for discovery, an opportunity to find out what kinds of things interest you most.

His advice echoes the sentiments of the Reverend Dr. Howard Thurman, an educator and theologian whose writings greatly influenced Martin Luther King Jr. Thurman wrote,

“Don’t worry about what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and do that. Because what the world needs are people who have come alive.”

Dad gave me permission to follow my bliss. Whatever that may be. As a kid I joked that when I grow up I want to be a Hare Krishna dancing around Waikiki playing drums and selling flowers. He looked at me, smiled, and said—

“whatever makes you happy.”

I ‘m grown up now and no offence to any devotees of Krishna, but I have not joined up. But as far as my dad was concerned that would have been ok.

He was ok when I had long hair
He was ok when I shaved it bald
He was ok when I got an earring
He was ok when I got a belly button ring
He was ok when I got a tattoo
He was ok when I was a vegetarian
He was ok when I was a tremendous carnivore
He was ok when I was a preppy
He was ok when I wore second hand clothes from Goodwill
He was ok when I got married straight out of college
He was ok when Kim and I decided to have our baby at home
He was ok when I quit a very secure job and decided to go homestead off the grid on the Big Island

As long as I was happy.

Not once did my dad ever infuse doubt or fear into my life. He may have had a few questions to make sure my head was screwed on properly, but then he would simply sit back and watch. His open mindedness and his gentle ways have truly been a gift in my life.

Dad, I believe, truly understood the words of the American scholar and mythologist, Joseph Campbell when he said,

“Follow your bliss and the Universe will open doors where there were only walls.”

I’d like to end by telling you another story. About a week ago, I drove into Hilo after picking Bodhi up from school. I sped along going about 45 miles per hour when out of the corner of my eye, I see going in the opposite direction this guy in his 70s zooming past on a chopper style Harley Davidson. My head jerked fast.
“Oh my God!”
“It was dad on a Harley.”
Same round, shaved Asian head with a cool laid back expression.
This guy had it going on—
black leather jacket,
blue jeans
black leather riding boots
and a rugged Harley that said—I gotta go—I’m following my bliss.
I got home, got dinner going and forgot about seeing the guy until Kim came up to me and said,
“Oh my God, I almost forgot to tell you. Today as I drove home there was this guy behind me.”
I stopped her and asked,
“was he riding a Harley and looked like somebody we know?”
“Yes!”
But for Kim instead of him zooming by, he followed her for several blocks and she got a good look at him, and said he was the spitting image of dad, with a gold hoop earring.

We saw the same guy, at about the same time, at two different places in Hilo.

That was dad’s Easy Rider spirit sending us a message. “I’m free!” he was saying. “I’m free.”

We are surrounded by about 2,000,000 bits of information every second. Our minds can only take in 126 bits of information a second. So at that moment when the guy zoomed by on his Harley, out of the 2,000,000 bits of stimuli that was surrounding me, he was somehow one of the 126 bits that I actually took in.

That’s amazing—

The 126 bits of information we take in depends on our own unique beliefs and life experiences. This creates for each of us our own unique bank of memories. So your recollections of my dad are completely different from his or hers or mine. We all have our own unique individual picture of Rodney Junichi Arakawa in our minds. This is a beautiful piece of treasure to cherish.

The Reverend Sandye Wilson points out that, often eulogies are used as a time to present a person as someone who walked on water. Dad could certainly float on water, but walk—probably not. It is important instead, she says, to present the person as evidence of humanity
with all the joys and complications
and at the end we can say thank God he lived and
thank God we were loved by him.

Always Blessings

My dad playing dress up--circa 1940. Looks just like Bodhi!


E kala mai ia‘u--please forgive me.

It has been a while since I last wrote something on this blog. What a whirlwind March has been. Instead of transgressing into reasons why I didn't write, I will highlight all the blessings March brought.

On March 11--My dad, Rodney Arakawa, transitioned from this life we shared together. His soul was ready to make that walk over the rainbow. It was a blessing that my mom was here on the Big Island with us when my dad passed and she was able to get some support during her time here. I am so tremendously grateful to Kim for organizing many of the details that come up when someone dies. I was in Kona for nine days after my dad died and Kim held it together for all of us.

From March 13-21 I was in Kona for a Huna Workshop. It was an incredibly transformational week of study. One of the highlights for me was a trip to Volcanoes National Park. I had been to the park on many different occasions, but I had never experienced it the way I did with the Huna group. The energy I felt and the intensity of the connection to the place was amazing and life altering. If anyone is interested in studying Huna with the group--check out the Empowerment Partnership at nlp.com.

At the end of the workshop, Kim and Bodhi drove out to Kona to meet me and we stayed a couple of extra nights at the Outrigger Keauhou Beach Resort. The hotel is a really fantastic property. The land belongs to Kamehameha Schools and they are doing a stellar job at preserving the sacredness of the site. Bodhi had a lot of fun being at the hotel and he also got a chance to have a trolley ride that took us down Ali‘i Drive. Fun, Fun, Fun. And it was a great way to launch his Spring Break.

Spring Break 2010 for Bodhi--It was his first Spring Break. No, crazy romps to Ft. Lauderdale or Palm Springs. It was a few days in Kona and park time in Hilo, Volcano and Kalapana. Bed time has been the usual 6:30, what a blessing. He's been growing up so fast.

Here's a little equation I want to share with you--
C>E
In this equation C=cause and E=effect.
Life is about cause and effect.
The question is, which side of the cause and effect equation are you on? Are you the cause in your life, or are you the effect of things in you life?
To gain maximum power, take responsibility for everything that happens in your universe.
On the cause side of the equation are results.
On the effect side of the equation are reasons--all the reasons you are not getting results.
I recommend getting on the cause side of the equation.
Equation is from the Empowerment Partnership.

Again--E kala mai ia‘u for the gap in the blog writing--March just zoomed by.

Happy Easter everyone!--Let's all celebrate the life force that goes on and on.

Got some Honey?

It was a wonderful Sunday for the Maku‘u Farmers' Market. The tsunami warnings had all passed us by, the breeze was cool and just a hint of light mist floated around on the air.

Part of our routine when we get to the market is for Bodhi to get his strawberry smoothie. We wait patiently in line as the smoothie maker throws in strawberries, freshly squeezed pineapple juice, ice cubes and a little bit of coconut milk into the blender and whips together a taste sensation that one sip will involuntarily make your eyes close and go, "AHHH. . ."

Ernie Cruz Sr. played country western music and captivated Bodhi with his fast guitar playing. Kim and Bodhi watched Uncle Ernie under the covered tent as I went about getting some veggies for us. I got a loaf of fresh, locally baked sour dough bread, a dozen eggs from happy local chickens, and organic kale and collards grown by local Hare Krishna folks. What a bounty of great stuff.

I bought a freshly made crepe chocked full with shrimps, spinich, artichoke hearts, avocado and lightly dressed with white sauce for our lunch. We sat and ate as Uncle Ernie crooned out a really good version of "Lucille". I couldn't help thinking of the the Frank Delima version--"Eh wot Lucille! You going leave me now? Da kids nevah eat yet, mango season not pau . . . Oh wow! Lau Lau!"

After lunch we walked around the stalls and Bodhi was thrilled to do some shopping. We found a guy selling all sorts of garage sale type items. Bodhi scored a free toy from the guy and bought a used copy of a Curious George book for a dollar. He was so excited about his purchase that he showed his items to each vendor booth we stopped at.

As we were about to leave the market, Kim took Bodhi to the bathroom and I waited outside of the restroom area. The sun had come out, so I put my sunglasses on to keep my eyes shaded.

As I waited a guy in his mid 50s, wearing an Indonesian batik print shirt, comes up to me.
He leans into me and whispers, "Hey man, you want some honey?"
He opens the plastic bag he's carrying and I see about five jars of honey. I tell him no thanks and explain that I already did my shopping.
He looks really disappointed and tells me,"Ah man--I was hoping to trade some honey for some ganja."
I was a little taken aback by what he said. I mean, no judgement on my part if he wants to smoke pot, but I had never been approached in that way before.
I just looked at him and said, "Sorry, can't help you man."

Kim and Bodhi came out of the bathroom. Before Kim could say anything to me, I asked her to step back and look at me objectively as if she didn't know me.
"Now look at me and tell me, do I look like a person that would have some weed on me?"
She stared at me for a moment then said, "Well. . . Actually. . . Maybe."
I laughed at her assessment and thought about how very interesting and inaccurate outward appearances can be.

It is very true that you cannot judge a book by its cover. It is especially true, I believe, here on Hawai‘i Island. At our local health food store you may see this grungy, grungy, dreadlocked couple with three snotty faced kids in tow shopping for groceries. When they leave the store, we see them all pile into a very late model Range Rover and zoom off. Trustafarians? Maybe, or maybe just people that would have ganja in their pockets. You never can tell.

There's this African American man in his 60s that walks around Hilo Town. He carries a big tribal looking walking stick and just cruises around. I would often see him sitting in front of Bear's Coffee. I always thought he was a homeless guy, until I was told that he is actually a world famous painter whose works have been displayed in the White House.

There are countless other eccentrics walking around Hilo Town that I believe have astounding and unexpected stories to tell of their lives. Michael Franti, lead singer of Spearhead, reminds us in his song, "Stay Human" that, "All the freaky people make the beauty of the world."

I believe the Big Island fosters a very live and let live environment. People feel free to express themselves without fear of judgement of what it looks like. I believe we all have a little bit of a freaky person inside of us that is desiring to get out. Let that person out, it'll feel so good. Nobody is watching really. People are too caught up in their own affairs to really care.

So dance like no one is watching
Sing out loud like you're in your car by yourself
If you have long hair, let it down and let it swing free
Show off those tattoos that have been hiding
Say "no" to the razor for a week--men and women
Laugh out loud
Be free
Nobody's watching--really

So do I look like the kind of guy, that would be carrying a bag of weed in my back pocket?
Who cares?

Local Roots

This past Saturday we took the beautiful drive along the Hamakua Coast to Laupahoehoe for the Laupahoehoe Music Festival. The weather was spectacular and the music was really great.

As we turned off the main highway and descended down the winding road that took us to Laupahoehoe Point Beach Park, the ocean opened up before us in all of it's glorious expansiveness. As the road narrowed on our way down, drivers on the opposite side of the road got friendlier and friendlier as each us became more and more aware of the others' presence.

When we got to the beach park, festival staff members guided us through the parking area and onto a grassy area. I rolled down my window to get parking directions from the guy working the grassy area. His instructions went something like this,
"Ho--OK bruddah--hea's wat you going do--Pull up ova dea an den back um in right in front of da black cah ova dea--Make shua you leave nuff room so da oddah guy can get out." Simple enough. I nodded, said, "tank you--my bruddah.", and parked.

As I got Bodhi out of his car seat, he looked at me a little puzzled and asked, "Daddy, how come the Uncle( the parking lot attendant) was talking so funny?"

Kim and I shot each other "Uh-OH!" glances.

We consider ourselves very conscientious parents. We work hard to make sure that he has as many experiences that we can set up for him to aid his development. But that morning at Laupahoehoe we realized that we had neglected an area. It was about exposure. He wasn't getting enough doses of his local culture, he wasn't hearing enough Pidgin English.

Kim and I basically speak Standard American English and so does our very articulate three and half year old. I grew up speaking primarily pidgin. The pidgin is part of who I am and part of my cultural make up. It, like any other language is part of how I understand and perceive the world. It is a vibrant language with many subtle nuances. Also, it is a connecting point for people who grew up in this glorious place.

There have been attempts in the past to squeeze the pidgin out of Hawai‘i's youth and homogenize the language into Standard American English. I actually hear less and less pidgin being spoken as Hawai‘i's local culture has become more closely aligned with the culture of the rest of the Continental U.S. I hear more of our youths' language emulating the stars they see on MTV, rather than that of their local culture.

Perhaps I have a cultural responsibility to expose my son to more Pidgin English. It is a growing language. It is very different from the pidgin my grandmother spoke on the plantation to communicate with all that gathered here to make a new life. But it is still a part of the culture of this wonderful place.

So---Afta we wen pahk da cah, we wen go check out da music an all da ono grindz had fo eat. Burah, was so good fun! Me an Bodhi wen go check out da watah. He neva have da kine swim shorts, so he wen jus go in wit his bebahdees. He neva keah. Bodhi had one Redondo Hot Dog fo lunch--he wen bite um, look at me and say--"Ho Daddy--dis Hot Dog is winnah, winnah--chicken dinnah."

Actually, I made the last sentence up. He actually took one bite of the hot dog and said, "Daddy, this hot dog is really yummy." We're working on it.