There was a time in my life when the idea of beginning something new was both an intriguing and fearful premise: time before an elementary education, the promise of friendships, knowledge and a thirst for more. It was a time of togetherness, of family and of fortunes.
But it was not the fortunes of the wealthy or even that wealth couched in the memories of the elderly: these were the shining days of laughter, hope and smiles. Our fortunes were those of children hard at play and harder at the work of building into our dreams. Our wealth was found in the wink of a sapphire eye and the beat of a five year old heart, rusted with the joy of the young. Adam and I would be lost in the land of the imagination, which lay just beyond the grasp of our screen door when the others came home from school.
Books would go slamming and bags flying. School clothes would come down like the long hair of the islands, held aloft all day at the top of the head, while play clothes would be shimmied into at my mother's call to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Emotion filled our tiny home as our older sister rushed headlong through the lawn, taking no heed of us. And we would go one, Adam and I, in the jungle of our minds with G.I. Joe, sound effects and dirt clods. We were the safari hunters rambling through the honeysuckle in search of our great lion; we were the Tarzans of the white sycamores, the knights of the front lawn, the samurai of Mother's rock garden. Kings amongst children, we played; the living amongst the fantasy, we laughed. Then, in a flash, our glass house came crashing to the ground with the uttering of one frail sentence:
"In three months," Mother said, "you'll be joining your sister in school."
Were it not for the Kool-Aid and sunshine, I would have died there on the spot. But Mother knew that the time for learning was drawing near and the age of ignorance was coming to an end; after all, it was she who taught me best of all.
She told me as I sat barefoot and cross-legged on the kitchen floor, light coming through the window, while I sipped on my grape drink and played with my Hot Wheels. Standing over the stove, she said it nonchalantly as she stirred the green beans and double-checked the heat of the rice.
"Huh?," I said, looking up unbelieving, a purple Kool-Aid moustache developing on my upper-lip.
"This is it, little man. Soon, you'll be in school and making friends, coming home for lunch and wearing a backpack!"
"I don't wanna make friends. I wanna hang out with Adam."
"Well, Adam has a whole 'nother year at home with me, but you guys will still get to play in the afternoon."
With that, I felt the very first twinges of envy, fear and wide-eyed excitement. I mean, she did mention a backpack!
9.21.2007
9.12.2007
The Weird Lady at Work
Her name is Liz. Older. Totally nutters.
Here is only one example of the craziness that is her life:
I am downstairs at the local cafeteria, ordering a grilled cheese sandwich for breakfast and she is ahead of me in the line. She orders the breakfast special, sans hash browns and toast. I immediately think "Atkins" and continue in my waiting. This is pretty normal, right?
Then, the guy gives her the total and she loses it! She becomes upset because he did not deduct the price for her unwanted potatoes and bread. She says, "You're not going to give me a discount?" as though that is what happens everywhere. He replies, "Uh. no." and she decides that this isn't worth her time, so she gives him this maniacal sneer, turns on her heels and huffs out, without so much as a good morning to me when she sees me.
Let me ask: when you order your fast food and request no onions, no tomato, etc., do you expect the burger to be cheaper? NO! So what's the deal with crazy Liz at work, looking for a discount on her already "special" breakfast? Totally weird.
Here is only one example of the craziness that is her life:
I am downstairs at the local cafeteria, ordering a grilled cheese sandwich for breakfast and she is ahead of me in the line. She orders the breakfast special, sans hash browns and toast. I immediately think "Atkins" and continue in my waiting. This is pretty normal, right?
Then, the guy gives her the total and she loses it! She becomes upset because he did not deduct the price for her unwanted potatoes and bread. She says, "You're not going to give me a discount?" as though that is what happens everywhere. He replies, "Uh. no." and she decides that this isn't worth her time, so she gives him this maniacal sneer, turns on her heels and huffs out, without so much as a good morning to me when she sees me.
Let me ask: when you order your fast food and request no onions, no tomato, etc., do you expect the burger to be cheaper? NO! So what's the deal with crazy Liz at work, looking for a discount on her already "special" breakfast? Totally weird.
9.06.2007
Barn Builders, a Bildungsroman -- page One
"Goddammit!" Blood came rushing from his finger, it now smashed and turning a sickly dark color. He released the hammer – threw it more like – and proceeded to sit on the 4x4 he had been working on. He sat some 28 feet in the air, legs straddling the beam and dangling in the void. The hammer careened into the side of a trashcan below.
"Be careful, man. You’ll hurt someone otherwise." The man from the bottom looked up, craning his neck and shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun as it continued its descent westward. His hardhat had been worn out with scratches of overuse so he covered them with yellow nail polish. The polish was brighter than the rest of the hat, giving it streaks of cleanliness amidst the dirt.
"Whatever."
"What did you say to me? I thought I heard you say 'Whatever.' Perhaps my ears deceive me, boy. Don't pretend you're a man because you can climb up and hammer in some joists. It isn't your time, son. Not yet." The man's voice began hard and sharp but, by the end, had softened so that the boy had to strain his ears to hear him. The elder man looked down, knowing that he would have to show his son to the wilderness for a season, that he would have to experience the pitfalls of his manhood rather soon. But he didn't want to think about it. It seemed only yesterday that Cody was carousing around the backyard in his diaper, cheering on the dog at its digging. That was nearly 15 years ago.
"Ok Pop, I get it."
"Do you?"
"I think so. Yeah, I do. I get it."
"Don't play with me. I will knock you down from that beam quicker than you can scream for help. I promise you that."
"Ok, Ok. I get it."
"Good. Now get down here and get the hammer you threw away."
"Yes, sir."
The young man came quickly down the scaffolding, swinging from pipe to pipe, jumping full floors at a sprint, much like an ape-man. This was his favorite part, when he could go as fast as possible. His dad didn’t mind too much; he said if he hurt himself, he would be paying the bills. And besides, he smiled, a little adrenaline is good for you. The trouble is that Cody was addicted to it. That’s why he went all the way to the top of the structure, hammering and such as he went: that is why he came tumbling down headlong at breakneck speed – he was secretly a bit fearful of heights and this was how you got the most excitement. Landing in the dirt, he patted himself off, rubbed his hands into one another, grabbed a bottle of water and retrieved the hammer. Looking West, the sun had dipped below the tree line. He rubbed the back of his neck with the calloused palm of his hand, then turned to his father.
"How long you think till we're done?"
"Can't tell for certain. We're done for today though, if that's what you're asking."
"Yep. And no. I mean, how long till you think this barn's going to be finished?"
"A year or more the way we're working. It's just you and me and a lot of fresh air. So... I don't know really. We're already at it for 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. We have other priorities, too. And you need to make your trip into the woods some time between now and when this is finished."
"I know that. Just curious."
"You got other plans?"
"Like what, sir?"
"Like college, Cody. What are you doing after this?"
"Working with you, I guess. I wouldn't leave this for more school. I like the work. It suits me."
"Ok. Suits me fine, too."
They gathered the tools into the pickup, tossing in the trash of the day and climbing into the cab. They drove home in silence, only a half-mile away over a dirt road, with corn field and ash trees aplenty.
"Be careful, man. You’ll hurt someone otherwise." The man from the bottom looked up, craning his neck and shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun as it continued its descent westward. His hardhat had been worn out with scratches of overuse so he covered them with yellow nail polish. The polish was brighter than the rest of the hat, giving it streaks of cleanliness amidst the dirt.
"Whatever."
"What did you say to me? I thought I heard you say 'Whatever.' Perhaps my ears deceive me, boy. Don't pretend you're a man because you can climb up and hammer in some joists. It isn't your time, son. Not yet." The man's voice began hard and sharp but, by the end, had softened so that the boy had to strain his ears to hear him. The elder man looked down, knowing that he would have to show his son to the wilderness for a season, that he would have to experience the pitfalls of his manhood rather soon. But he didn't want to think about it. It seemed only yesterday that Cody was carousing around the backyard in his diaper, cheering on the dog at its digging. That was nearly 15 years ago.
"Ok Pop, I get it."
"Do you?"
"I think so. Yeah, I do. I get it."
"Don't play with me. I will knock you down from that beam quicker than you can scream for help. I promise you that."
"Ok, Ok. I get it."
"Good. Now get down here and get the hammer you threw away."
"Yes, sir."
The young man came quickly down the scaffolding, swinging from pipe to pipe, jumping full floors at a sprint, much like an ape-man. This was his favorite part, when he could go as fast as possible. His dad didn’t mind too much; he said if he hurt himself, he would be paying the bills. And besides, he smiled, a little adrenaline is good for you. The trouble is that Cody was addicted to it. That’s why he went all the way to the top of the structure, hammering and such as he went: that is why he came tumbling down headlong at breakneck speed – he was secretly a bit fearful of heights and this was how you got the most excitement. Landing in the dirt, he patted himself off, rubbed his hands into one another, grabbed a bottle of water and retrieved the hammer. Looking West, the sun had dipped below the tree line. He rubbed the back of his neck with the calloused palm of his hand, then turned to his father.
"How long you think till we're done?"
"Can't tell for certain. We're done for today though, if that's what you're asking."
"Yep. And no. I mean, how long till you think this barn's going to be finished?"
"A year or more the way we're working. It's just you and me and a lot of fresh air. So... I don't know really. We're already at it for 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. We have other priorities, too. And you need to make your trip into the woods some time between now and when this is finished."
"I know that. Just curious."
"You got other plans?"
"Like what, sir?"
"Like college, Cody. What are you doing after this?"
"Working with you, I guess. I wouldn't leave this for more school. I like the work. It suits me."
"Ok. Suits me fine, too."
They gathered the tools into the pickup, tossing in the trash of the day and climbing into the cab. They drove home in silence, only a half-mile away over a dirt road, with corn field and ash trees aplenty.
9.05.2007
The Letter
Dear Dad,
This is a hard letter to write, but I suppose it has been a long time coming. I do not know how to soften the blow for you, to cradle your fall so that you feel less pain, or to write in a tone that would signify that I am a caring, human-hearted individual. The hard, bare truth is the only thing I can come up with -- you have been replaced and I am none the worse for wear.
When you and Mom separated that fateful night -- do you remember it? -- I thought I was being torn in half. Even then, during that thunderstorm and your continuous cries in the darkness, I knew what it was like to be something other than a child. Did you know that memory has haunted me nearly every night since its occurrence? It has taken up entirely too much of my life, making it so sleep is a difficult animal to pin down. I know you will say that it is not your fault -- that Mom had been drinking again and overreacted, that she should not have changed the locks, that when you cried out to me to open the door, I should have listened to your voice and taken the wrath of her, though she lay not 10 feet from me. And perhaps you are right. But you cheated. You traded us in for something -- no, someone else. You fucked that up, even if you married Mom because she was pregnant.
And why did you tell Pua that? You think its easy to know that your dad was around an extra 9 years and created 4 more children because of his first mistake, manifested in your very own flesh and blood and bone? You think that doesn't fuck with her head? I exist because you were too much of a coward to leave in the first place. You made me a product of your cowardice. I suppose I should say 'Thank you.'
After you vacated the premises, I put you on this pedestal. I was glad to bear your name, to be called 'Junior,' or 'Keithy,' or 'Little Keith.' I defended your actions -- or lack thereof -- to everyone. Keoki and I fought constantly because of it. But do you know he was right? I still hate to say it, but it is true. I realized how you were still running.
Even from the beginning, I was to be different from them. I look like you, have a similar build, speak in a similar fashion. I am a constant reminder of your fear. Where my siblings got a Hawaiian name -- something that spoke to their character, their spirit, their heart -- I got your name instead; the name of my runaway father. When you ran off with Marie, you took my masculinity with you. I resented you a long time for it.
I was taken in at 14; you know that. I call that man 'Pops' because dad has such a negative connotation in my mind. He helped usher me into manhood where you did not try. So yes, Father, you have been replaced. I don't hate you for your mistakes, though you have shown me what it means to be a bad father. Because of you, thank God, I know what not to do.
This is a hard letter to write, but I suppose it has been a long time coming. I do not know how to soften the blow for you, to cradle your fall so that you feel less pain, or to write in a tone that would signify that I am a caring, human-hearted individual. The hard, bare truth is the only thing I can come up with -- you have been replaced and I am none the worse for wear.
When you and Mom separated that fateful night -- do you remember it? -- I thought I was being torn in half. Even then, during that thunderstorm and your continuous cries in the darkness, I knew what it was like to be something other than a child. Did you know that memory has haunted me nearly every night since its occurrence? It has taken up entirely too much of my life, making it so sleep is a difficult animal to pin down. I know you will say that it is not your fault -- that Mom had been drinking again and overreacted, that she should not have changed the locks, that when you cried out to me to open the door, I should have listened to your voice and taken the wrath of her, though she lay not 10 feet from me. And perhaps you are right. But you cheated. You traded us in for something -- no, someone else. You fucked that up, even if you married Mom because she was pregnant.
And why did you tell Pua that? You think its easy to know that your dad was around an extra 9 years and created 4 more children because of his first mistake, manifested in your very own flesh and blood and bone? You think that doesn't fuck with her head? I exist because you were too much of a coward to leave in the first place. You made me a product of your cowardice. I suppose I should say 'Thank you.'
After you vacated the premises, I put you on this pedestal. I was glad to bear your name, to be called 'Junior,' or 'Keithy,' or 'Little Keith.' I defended your actions -- or lack thereof -- to everyone. Keoki and I fought constantly because of it. But do you know he was right? I still hate to say it, but it is true. I realized how you were still running.
Even from the beginning, I was to be different from them. I look like you, have a similar build, speak in a similar fashion. I am a constant reminder of your fear. Where my siblings got a Hawaiian name -- something that spoke to their character, their spirit, their heart -- I got your name instead; the name of my runaway father. When you ran off with Marie, you took my masculinity with you. I resented you a long time for it.
I was taken in at 14; you know that. I call that man 'Pops' because dad has such a negative connotation in my mind. He helped usher me into manhood where you did not try. So yes, Father, you have been replaced. I don't hate you for your mistakes, though you have shown me what it means to be a bad father. Because of you, thank God, I know what not to do.
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