A Funny Birthday

Saturday was my biological mom's birthday. She turned 57. A few days previous, Pualani and I put our heads together and decided to bar-b-q for her. Az was cool enough to come meet her, bake some cookies and brownies, and hang with us all afternoon. It had been over a year since I had last seen her.

At times, I got a distinct awkward feeling, as though we didn't really know one another. I suppose that is true. But we had some fun talking about when I was a boy and I think Az got a chance to see how I interact with my biological family a little more, so that was good.

For her gift, I made her a CD what we listened to while playing some dominoes. She loved it. I also did some hula for her, as I heard that she misses home.

The best part of the whole thing was just the time that we got to spend together and the fact that we got to eat. There were some initial set-backs to our cooking endeavors (Pualani was late to her own house, there was a stove-top fiasco, no lighter fluid, the coals wouldn't burn, etc.) but everything worked out in the end.

As a result of this whole thing, Pua said she is thinking about dancing when the Ike Kume class begins. I'm seriously looking forward to it.

Something Calling

I have this deep desire inside me, placed there when I was just a boy with battered knees and broken lungs; I long to be a dad, to raise kids, to have a family of my own.

I want my sons (and daughters) to grow passionately into holy men and women, caring for the poor, the widow, the fatherless. I want to spin a destiny for my children so their lives are a reflection, not of me, but of my Father. I want them to cast big shadows and have strong shoulders: to be men of the earth, to use their hands for glory and their words to build kingdoms.

I want my daughters to be raised knowing their worth without burdens placed on their physical appearance; for them to know they are a loved beyond measure daughter of the King, princesses in his castle, precious thoughts to God Himself. I want them to grow into women of faith, character, tender-hearted strength.

In Hawaiian tradition, the naming of a child holds the weight of their destiny; the meaning of their name casts the die over their life, so to speak. A child is meant to grow into their name, much the same way we grow into our Manhood. That being said, I have not picked out names for my children, though there are a couple that I hold more dear than others. It is my hope that my wife will be okay with her children having Hawaiian names -- even if it is only the middle name -- as I think the continuance of my culture important; I hope it remains important to my children.

I do not remember my dad playing catch with me as a boy -- not once, not ever. I was talking to a good friend of mine this weekend while we were building a fence and I told him that I was very excited about playing catch with Azina at the park. (Azina being the awesome girl in my life, with perfect words always at the ready.) He was oddly interested at my excitement and told me I was acting like I had never played catch with my dad before. It was like I, a 24 year old man, had reverted to my 6 year old days. It was then I realized I hadn't. It was sort of an odd moment: epiphanaic. A couple of times we went fishing, I think, and I ended up eating the corn we were using for bait. I can recall a camping trip, some wrestling on the living room floor, the hugs after work. Everything physical sort of ended abruptly due to my asthma as a child, though we would eventually get together again to tickle, wrestle and fight. But that ended at my folks separation when I was but a child; I was one of those men without any sense of proper masculinity until taken in by my hanai father. It was then that he honed the skills and sense of honor that was already a part of me.

So now, years later, this sense of paternal longing is beginning to call to me in a sort of ebb and flow. At times it will be almost too much to bear -- the way I want to raise someone to see God with clear eyes and an open heart. At other times, though, its just... normal. I know I want kids but the desire isn't gripping me like a vice. Today is one of those vice-gripping days.

Family

Family is incredibly important to me. The funny thing is, however, I have a "non-traditional" family.

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As a young teen, I was separated from my mother and biological family, eventually being taken in by a very caring and loving mom and dad (whom I now consider as blood.) Very soon it was considered and decided that I would be raised as one of their own, as a hanai (adopted) son. This family, the one that I have no genetic ties with, taught me a lot about what it means to have a loving mother and a providing, present father. Were it not for them, I could only fear the worst for my life, as it was through these experiences that I eventually came to God as a broken and battered boy.

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Chris, my dad, taught me about manhood and passed his masculinity on to me in a way that came with strength -- but without fear. In the process of all of this, I gained an additional sister, Amber, and brother, Charles. Although we did not always get along, I never felt as though I did not belong in the home. Honestly, it was great times.

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Below is a picture of my family on Amber's 26th birthday, just a few weeks ago. My mom isn't in the picture because she was working in China. (seriously.)

From L to R:

Charles, the youngest of us and chef at Staple's Center. The kid can make some mean food, loves punk rock and was the little brother I "taught" how to wrestle. :) He is quickly becoming the man we feared he would never realize -- someone of courage, strength and honor.

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Dad -- the goat that he is -- did a lot for me though he would say otherwise. I could never consider myself a man until he told me I had passed the test. Until I received his blessing around the age of 20, I considered myself a boy. With a dad like mine, that only makes sense.

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Me.

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Amber, the queen of drama. She deserves better than she gets and I think she is starting to realize it. We are living together currently and rarely see one another. But she's great and I am learning how to tell her I love her without it being weird.

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However, that's not the end of my family. Some of you know, but I recently went to a family reunion and had a great time. My blood family is just as important to me as my hanai family -- I have my genealogy on my body, proven in ink. They help to ground me, support me and understand my love for all things Polynesian better than anyone else I know. Here they are...

L to R:

Pualani, my older sister and the woman who helped to raise me until I moved out of my mom's house. She is strong-willed, hard-headed and recently found God in a way that is both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

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Uncle Steve -- this is the man mentioned in my post dedicated to Azina. Nothing else needs saying.

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Kapono -- my youngest brother -- lives with my little sister in West Virginia. Shortly after I moved out of my mom's place, they got taken away. For a long time I blamed myself. Now he and I are great friends and I can already see the kind of man he will become; he has already stretched himself outside the realm of my father's shadow and he is only 17.

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Uncle Stan, one of the most compassionate men I know, is taking care of my grandma in Hawai`i. The man gets no time for himself and is very, very selfless.

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Pualeiala, my littlest sister is also the most momona (fat). She's great, has a temper and somehow has never aged. Growing up she had this very thin, unnatural hair that didn't want to grow -- ever. We teased her for it. Now though, she has this wonderful mane of hair that curls and spirals down her back. She and Kapono helped to raise one another, similar to how close Pualani and I are.

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Me, hair pulled back for a hula performance.

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Tutu (grandma) -- the matriarch of the family and teller of stories. I have some ink on my body dedicated to her as well. She also lives on O`ahu with my Uncle Stan.

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Not in the picture is my hele hope (little brother) Keoke. We fight like cats and dogs, live on opposite sides of the spectrum and the continent, and take to one another like oil takes to water. But I wouldn't trade him in for any other. He helped keep me alive during the worst of it.