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Written by Ed Morton

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Ok den we stay heading towards Kahuku, but before you get there you have to pass Sunset Beach. At that time nothing was around there except cane fields, pheasants and keawe trees. As we traveled along Grandpa would only go about 35-40 miles an hour. Cars would pass us and at times we would have a string of cars behind us. Grandpa did not like to go too fast. I was glad because the slop cans would not move too much. When sum 'body pass, the buggah would give us the "stink face" then cut in real close to the truck, but Grandpa was real akamai, he slowed down wen dey pass so as to not "huli" the slop cans. That is good because I neva like smell "hau'na" from the slop.

At times we would meet the same buggahs down the road and Uncle would giv-em the shaka sign (He was one big bla-lah), so if they like make "pilikia" they would think twice about it. Finally we would arrive at Kahuku; we would pass the old Sugar Mill. This was a very busy area with all the large semi-trucks pulling in and out of the Sugar Mill. Sometimes I would see my Dad on his Shuga-Hoppa (Big semi that hauled raw sugar to be shipped), and he would blow his air horn at us. Grandpa would honk back. I miss those times, especially my Dad and Grandpa.

Kahuku, like Wahiawa, had a lot of plantation homes and a mix of people from all the Pacific, Asia and other parts of the world. Listening to all the different languages, dialects and knowing their customs helped me later in the military and in college.

We always tried to make a stop at Great Grandmother's house. She lived in a very old part of Laie. Some of my family still lives there. She was a very religious person (Mormon.) She loved to do her Temple work and always saw to it that we participated in church activities.

After our visit with Great Grandmother, we continued with our trip to Grandpa's Taro Patch. When we arrived, we had to pass a lot of construction in the area. The Mormon Church had been building the "Church College of Hawaii", later renamed "Brigham Young University" Hawaii campus. Grandpa would drive up to the gate, one of us would open the gate and he would drive in. As we drove to the house we could see the neighbor's Tack House. They had a few horses pastured there.

Grandpa's brother lived on the farm; he was mom's uncle and my Great Uncle. He would greet us in Hawaiian style. Uncle "Kaluna" was a joker and a great animal trainer.  He trained all the dogs on the farm and the mule "Puka". Grandpa backed his truck to the "Cooker" and we knew it was time to go to work. The truck backed up to a huge black sooted cooker. It was black from all the wood burned to cook the slop for the pigs to eat. Grandpa would also supplement it with grass grown along the taro patch and some "Pule" from the discarded taro plants. Uncle Simi and I started to unload the slop into the cooker, we had to lift the drums up and pour the slop into the cooker. I can tell you on a hot day, the smell from the drums would make us want to puke, but that's when my Uncle Kaluna would take our minds off the smell. He would play his harmonica. He knew a lot of old Hawaiian songs and the dogs would join in, standing on their hind legs and do the hula. We all had a good laugh and finished the work.

Aftah this we wen unload all the other stuff, and then put our clothes on that we would use at the taro patch. Wen all the work was done we gathered all the glass jugs for water. Grandpa's farm did not have running water or electricity, everything we did was the old fashion way. Uncle Simi, Auntie Ida, Madeline and I would take the glass jugs up to the puna wai, a huge water tank. The water came from the mountains; it was fresh water and oooh so cold. The taste was so good. It was used to irrigate the taro patch which we worked in to pick taro for poi.

The water tank had another purpose. We used it to swim in and bathe. We wen put one wide board up to close off the water flow, then wait for dah water to rise. The tank was about 12 feet deep. Once the tank was filled we could swim. The mountain water was cold. Aftah we wen pau swimming we hemo the board from blocking the flow and we took the water jugs back to the house.

When we reached the house Grandpa was cooking.  Auntie and Madeline helped with the cooking. Uncle and I put up the water jugs then changed our clothes. Uncle Kaluna and Grandpa was talking story about the orders we had to fill for the customers who ordered taro.  Uncle Kaluna had made beef jerky. Auntie was cooking on an open fire with wood. Had opai and squash for soup and rice. All the food was cooked over heavy grates and racks. While the girls were cooking Uncle Simi and I got out the "Orange Base" and Malolo syrup to mix up using the water we brought back from the puna-wai.

When the food was cooked we ate and oooh how ONO. Just thinking about it broke your mouth (that's if the mosquitos would let you eat). Plenny mosquitos on a taro patch farm where you have water everywhere. Eh! They drive you nuts. Time to burn tires, clean kerosene lanterns and put up the mosquito nets.

The sun is setting and our camp fires are burning down, and we all have full "opu". We turn on the lanterns, check our beds and nets, and then time to relax, play cards, read comic books, or talk story. Aaah! Life was so easy. Always "Hawaii No Ka Oi".

I am from Wahiawa, O'ahu. The stories are from my memories of my growing up in a large family with extended relatives.

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Written by Kamaka Brown

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Tony Nacapui wasn't going for it.  "Nah, brah, I no like..." he said, his mouth set and jaw muscles twitching.

"Eh come on Tony, no be stink fut," Francis said, "an' besides, if no lemme ride 'em now, one day when you not looking, somebody going cockaroach 'em and den wat?"

Tony considered that eventuality, especially since Francis and his gangstah brothers were the notorious nocturnal bikenapper crew.  You would find your bike had been dissected by some made bike doctor.  A day or two later you would see Francis or one of his brothers riding down the street on one Frankenstein monster bike made up of parts of your bike and that of other hapless kids from around the neighborhood.

He now had to consider the situation at hand.  "I no can len you ride cuz my faddah sed if he ketch me lend da bike fo anybody ride, I goin' get dirty lickens."  Tony reaffirmed his position by putting both feet on the ground as he straddled the bike with both hands on the handle bars.

"Chee, Francis," I said, putting my school bag down at my feet, "just cuz you mo' big den us two guys..."

"Neva mind, Haole boy," Francis said. He called me Haole boy cuz I was more fair skinned then the kids at Main Camp in Kahuku. Had mostly filopino and Japanee families who lived around Kahuku Sugar Mill camp.

"Tony ain't stupid, eh Tony?" Francis continued. "You going let me ride no?  Tony-boy!" He put his arm around Tony's neck like he and Tony were old pals and he tightened his arm at the elbow.

"Ow..OWW..eh no make!" Tony said. "I ain't stupid okay, Francis? And you ain't riding my bike an' dass it." Tony wrenched himself away from Francis and was rubbing his neck.

Francis had not expected resistance.  He was the undisputed playground bully.  He constantly picked on us fourth graders.  He was ace at cutting in the cafeteria line and nobody called him on it.  When he "borrowed" money from you, you could kiss it goodbye because you would neva see that quarter again.

Francis had one eyebrow; it ran from the top of one eye right across to the other without interruption. Kinda one uni-brow like one hairy caterpillar over his eyes. Oh yeah, Francis had one homemade tattoo.  It was supposed to be an "F" for his name but he messed it up and it came out a funny shaped "B".  He said it was "B" foah "Bool" as in "I'm da bool around hea".  We secretly said it stood for "Bodinky" cuz he was Puerto Rican.  We never told Francis that doe, cuz we liked having teeths.

"Eh Francis, you beddah cut that out," I heard myself say.

Francis cocked his head and looked in my direction. "Why, Haole boy?  You tink you can take me?" Francis snorted. "You tink you AND Mistah 'No Let Me Ride His Bike' can take me?"

Whoa. It hadn't occurred to me or Tony that we could join forces against Francis. Tony's eyes flashed, as he too considered the possibility for the first time.

"Eh, come'on Tony, we go," my mouth moved with a will of its own.

"I toll you be'fo, Haole Boy –no butt in." He stepped away from Tony and poked at me with a stiff finger to punctuate each word, "I said fo' you to beat it, brah befo' I punch your mout."

I took a step back to keep my balance.  I stooped to pick up my school bag. Mr. Hisanaga had given us homework again out of the dreaded "Learning From Numbers" math book. The five pound volume lay on the bottom of my bulging book bag.

"That's it, peetot," Francis laughed at me struggling with my bag, "take off."  He turned his attention to Tony, "me and my bestest friend Tony going riding."

I turned to go, holding the school bag with both hands.  Now what happened next began as a slow motion picture and then cranked up to a blur of color and sound. I swung around, holding the bag chest high, with both hands. The bag narrowly missed Tony who saw it coming and ducked.  The arc of the bag continued through Francis' chest, a direct hit, he had just let out a breath and was looking down at the spiffy reflector tape adorning the silver fenders.

The end of the bag sort of crumpled into his chest and then popped out again.  It was amazing.  Tony turned to see Francis topple to the ground.  Francis eyes were so large; together they looked like one large fried eggs.  For just a moment, I thought I saw his eyebrow separate, but only for a second.

On his knees now, he stared at the ground his arms at his side. I think he was having one out of da body experience.  He made no sound right away, only a kind of "eeeeep....eeeeep...eeep" coming from his mouth.

Tony's mouth had popped open.  He had a speck of white saliva on one corner of his mouth.  He looked at the bag I still held with two hands, one end slightly out of shape. Tony was frozen in time with his hand completely over his mouth.

"You going get it now," Tony said trying to comfort me. "Thanks a lot," I thought. I could see me walking home with Tony's bike wrapped around my head.

Then Tony hopped on his new bike with the fancy reflector tape on the fenders and cranked down hard on the peddles leaving puffs of dirt as he sped down the shady dirt road to the highway.

I squinted at the backside of Tony as he rode quickly around a corner and disappeared.
I looked over at Francis.  He still had those fried egg eyeballs. "Francis, you ok?" I said tentatively thinking of me in prison for murder by school bag.  The math book would be used as evidence by the prosecuting attorney.  Mr. Hisanaga would bring me math tests and pass them through the bars.

"eeeeeeeeeeeep.....eeeeeeeeeeeep....." Francis continued, now holding his chest with one hand.

I hesitantly walked over and helped him to his feet.  He hunched over, holding his stomach now, balancing on stiff legs.  "Hoo man, I sure got you a good one, no?" I said trying to sound cheerful.

Francis nodded his head, his eyes now half closed.  Through the half closed eyelids I could see flashes of his life playing across the screen of his eyeballs. Kicking sand on a Fred Kawai for the first time, tripping Ida Yonemine who walked by, sticking gum in the pigtails of the Kiku Morita the girl who sat in front of him on the school bus, eating kakimochi and making everybody smell his breath, twisting my arm behind my back to see how far I would lift off the ground. Ahh...good times...good times.

I picked up his school books and we walked slowly to the bus stop in front of Burger Mill road.

"You know, Francis," I said, "your tattoo really doesn't stand for "Bool" does it?

He shook his head.

"What it stand fo' den? " I asked.

"eeeep....eeep...bo...bo...bodinky....eeeep" he wheezed trying to smile.

We rode the bus in silence.  When his stop came, I handed him his books.  He took them without a word and stepped off into the street.  I looked down the road from my seat and I could see the weathered beaten shacks of the North Shore plantation camp where he lived.  Rusted cars without wheels snoozed in the high wind swept grass.  A skinny dog ran out wagging his tail, barking at the bus.  A Buick with primer door creaked by slowly scrapping its bottom on the deep holes in the coral filled road.

As the bus pulled away, I looked out the back window.  Francis stood still on the spot where he stepped off the bus.  The skinny dog sniffed his feet and wagged his tail. As the bus moved away, Francis never moved getting smaller in the distance.

Years later, I was walking down Kuhio Avenue in Waikiki and passed a bar with live rock music screaming out the front door.  A couple of girls in sprayed on skirts were milling around a burly doorman.  Another doorman "helped" a haole guy to his feet and out the door. He just missed crashing into me as I passed the place.  The guy stumbled into two Samoans who were standing talking on their cell phones. Ah, I will let fate take its course, I thought.

The first doorman put his arm around one of the girls and gave her a big bear hug and then looked over at me for a second.

He had one continuous eyebrow.   It was Francis.

I dropped my gaze and kept walking.  I could feel his eyes on my neck as he tried to get a fix on me.

At the corner, I waited for the light to change.  A smile started on one corner of my mouth and a smile spread across my face.

"Eeeeeeeeeep....eeeeeeeeeeep!' I wheezed out loud, "I da Bool", I said laughing.

A tourist couple standing next to me stepped away and looked at each other.  The lady tightened her grip on her handbag and her husband wished the light would change more quickly.

I wondered where Tony Nacapui was and as the "walk" signal blinked, I stepped into the street thinking of the windswept plantation camps now ghosts of my childhood memories.

Kamaka Brown is on staff at AW. Originally from North Shore of Oahu, he now is a tropical transplant living on the West Coast. He is a stand-up comic performing in clubs, concerts and other venues in Honolulu, Las Vegas, Pacific Northwest and Los Angeles. In the summer of 2009 Kamaka toured Southern California and Pacific Northwest with his "If Can Can. If No Can No Can" Hawaiian Pidgin English stories with slack key guitars.

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Written by Ed Morton

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The times I like the best comes when you are relaxed, not much to do but remember things of your past. A trip down to the "Taro Patch", it's early in the morning, and your maka is closed tight, my bed is so warm and then EDWARD, you betta get up, Tutu man going be here soon, wiki-wiki, and don't wea your moelepo pants. I open my maka and run to the lua and blow the hannabuddah from my nose in da toilet paper, I hemo the toilet lid make some funny kind noise after I finish, brush my teeth, and put wada on my face to wash the maka pia pia from my eyes, I look in da mirror check my face to make sure I wen clean my maka good.

As I walk into the kitchen my Madda say to me Edward, your Grandpa going come get you for help at the Taro Patch, no make any humbug ok, eat your breakfess (left-over stew and poi), oh how ono.  My Madda hands me a bread wrapper (Loves bread), with some buttah rolls, and one manapua and this is for me to eat on my trip to Laie.

Then I hear my Grandpa's truck pull in the drive, he honks his horn, I run outside and climb into the back of the truck bed, its full of drums that contain "Slop", which my Grandpa collected for his pigs at the Taro Patch, inda truck is my Uncle Simi, Madeline, and sitting in the cab is my Auntie Ida with my Grandpa. "NeddyBoy" are you ready? (My Grandpa's name for me, my Dad's name is Ned), ok Grandpa I ansa, then we head down the road to Laie, it's always one interesting trip.

My Grandpa's truck was an old gray Ford pickup; it had wooden rails on the side. The trip to Laie would take us thru several towns. As we start down the road we go thru the town of Wahiawa, pass the old Bus Station, my Grandpa honks at one of his friends driving the Bus. Uncle Johnny worked there until he passed away. Then we would turn on Cane Street past Tai-Sing grocery store, then turn left and head towards Kilani Bakery, oooh the smell of the brownies and buttah rolls. ONO! We would go west now towards "Bigway" burger, ooooh the "Teriyaki" burgers, and plate lunches mmmmm. We turned north going towards "Whitmore" plantation camp, oooh the smell of the Pineapple. I can still remember picking pine "Monsu", "Ho-hana" gang.

As we travel we pass over the old Iron Bridge, which spans the Wilson reservoir, I can still remember the people catching "Mosquito" fish "Talapia", I still rather eat "Opelu", or "Mahi-Mahi". As we travel north, I can remember the Cane and Pineapple fields. Oh, I almost forget the," small Pineapple stand", along the road. I laugh about that, it's not small anymore.

One of the most beautiful sights was coming up, just as we drove over the crest of the hill, laid out in all its splendor the North Shore. What a gorgeous sight, the different colors of blue. From aqua that trails off to deep blue with the white ripples of surf. Mmmm. I can smell the salt air now; we were heading towards "Waialua" and "Haleiwa". Waialua was more towards the north west, my Grandpa would turn at the split and go thru Haleiwa, I remember it as old Wild West store fronts and surrounded by cane and pineapple fields. We would past the old Haleiwa Poi factory and Sea View Inn, and drive over the old white concrete bridge heading towards Haleiwa beach park, but before that we always stopped at "Matsumoto's" for Shave Ice. Not so crowded then. My Grandpa say, eh you guys, we going stop and eat shave ice, my Aunty and I would get the Rainbow kind, this stop was good because my Uncle Simi, Madeline and I was tired of dogging the slop cans, the buggahs smelled "hauna", and made you think it would give you "kaki'o".

After we finished our shave ice we headed out again, we passed Haleiwa park, and headed towards North Shore Pipe Line, depending on the time of the year we could see the big surf, but to me I would rather see "Waimea Bay", there is a pretty view, I can remember jumping from the rock, we passed the old spooky house, and the Catholic church with the tall tower, and past another country store by "Pupukea". We still had a long ways to go before we came to "Kahuku", and dogging the slop cans kept us on our toes.

I am from Wahiawa, O'ahu. The stories are from my memories of my growing up in a large family with extended relatives.

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Written by Mokihana White

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Growing up in da 'âina, was a big deal when people from da mainland wen come ova to visit us.  No mattah if our friends wen come by ship oa plane, was still one exciting time, cuz back den, living in da middo of da Pacific Ocean stay pretty far away.

Of course, us keeds knew da tradition of giving one lei to new arrivals, so da day befoa our friends wen come, we wen run up da street to Mrs. Faruya's hale.  Why?  Cuz in her front yard was dis bambucha orchid garden, nani purple orchids growing in profusion.  She always wen encourage us to come ova and pick some of dem foa lei when dey stay blooming.  I no can rememba a time when we had peeps coming ova and da orchids no stay blooming.

We wen go up and knock on her door and ask if we could pick da orchids.  Always we wen ask first.   Always we wen bow. And she neva wen tell us "'a'ole"; was always "'ae", with one big smile on her face.

So gently, we wen pick some orchids foa nâ lei.  Alla time we stay aware to pick um randomly so no look like too many stay missing.  To dis day, I can rememba da magic of standing in da middo of da orchid garden, feeling like I was in one orchid kine heaven, surrounded by da nani purple pua.

We wen bring pepa bags foa put nâ pua in, and we wen carefully lay alla orchids in da bags, only taking enough foa make howeva many lei we wen need.  We wen have ferns at home foa fill in.

When we stay pau picking, we wen go back to da front door foa tell Mrs Faruya "mahalo nui" foa da orchids and wen bow again.  We wen show her wat we wen pick and who stay coming da next day.  Smiling, she wen tell us our friends going be so hau'oli about dea lei.

Den we wen run back home, and in da front yard undaneet da mango tree, oa sometimes on da kitchen table, we wen string nâ lei.  Us keeds neva have long lei needos, we just wen use regulah sewing kine we wen temporarily kakaroach from our maddah's sewing basket.  We always wen puttem back so we no get dirty lickins!

Pau make nâ lei, we wen puttum in plastic bags in da fridge foa da next day. And da next day, when our friends wen get off da plane, we stay da first ones dea, putting one lei around each person's neck,  giving dem honi and telling dem, "Aloha!  E komo mai i Hawai'i nei!".

Wheneva I think of dem days, my heart stay so full of aloha foa Mrs Faruya,  dat wahine so full of aloha foa da brown-skinned local keeds who like pass on aloha to dea friends from da mainland.  Today, I wish I could go back to Mânoa Valley and wit one honi , one whispered "aloha" and one hug, give to Mrs Faruya one nani orchid lei.

Mokihana was born and raised in Mânoa Valley on the island of O'ahu. Local to the core, she is on staff at Alohaworld, where she tries to keep all the kolohe people there in line, not an easy task. Today she lives in Damascus, OR, with her hubby Nolemana and their assorted menagerie, including a llama, a goat, two sheep and two livestock guardian dogs. An avid Hawaiian quilter, knitter and photographer, Mokihana enjoys posting to the Lanai as well as her blog.

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Written by Ed Morton

User Rating: 5 / 5

Growing up in Hawaii will always be full of great memories. As a kid I remember going to Ala Moana Park when it was not so crowded, I remember the white sandy beach and how scenic it was. Surprisingly, there were many times that the beach was empty and the park had very few people walking around.

I would visit my Uncle Jonah who was the caretaker for the park. There was a mound in the middle of the park that was used as the caretakers hut. My Uncle Jonah had balding, graying hair. He was very caring. I loved going there after school because I knew he always had Hawaiian food like crab, haukiuki, limu, aku, and poi, and sometimes he had vana. I was a little kolohe and would sneek off to visit my uncle and eat when ever I had a chance.

Ala Moana beach is where I first learned to swim and body surf. The park was a great place to explore. At that time there was a little Hawaiian village setup and my uncle would let me play in the huts.  I would day dream about the "Old Times" because of all the stories my family would tell me about.

When ever I left to go home, my uncle would always tell me to go straight home. He knew my Dad would be looking for me if I wasn't home. I had an interesting route going home. We lived along the Ala Wai and I would past the canal using the bridge next to the boat harbor. I would watch people catching crabs from the bridge or watch the boats coming in and out of the harbor.

There were a lot of interesting people living along the Ala Wai. "J Aku Head Pupule"drove a little green sports car. Sometimes I would see "Lucky Luck", but more amazing was the Ala Wai. The canal was so clean you could swim in it. There are many more memories of growing up in Hawaii before becoming the "50th" state and after. It was my uncle Jonah that really had a lasting impression on me. He passed on what I now keep close to me and that is the love for a special time and place growing up.

I was born at Queens Hospital, growing up in Honolulu, Kailua and Wahiawa. I attended Leilehua High School, served 9 years in the US Air Force, and graduated from St. Marys College with a Bachelor of Science Degree. I now reside in Missouri with my family.

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Written by Kamaka Brown

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When I was small kid, I knew everybody who lived on my street.  Summer time I could leave the house in the morning and no come home 'til dinner time.  My muddah neva worry cuz she knew I was in da neighborhood.  All she had to do was yell my name and somebody would say: "eh your muddah calling you!"

I knew all our neighbors.  Had the Chun family next door with three kids. Gary went school with me and his two sisters played the violin and piano every afternoon for hours while us boys played football in the side yard.  Had the kolohe Matsuda kids being raised by a single muddah.  Neva did see Mr. Matsuda except one time on Thanksgiving.  He looked real Japanee Japanee.  Know wot I mean?  His hair was tied up in a knot on his head slicked back and he had a shiny black suit. He drove one big black car and we all thot he as Japanee gangsta or sumting. We stayed away from da Matsuda kids.  Of course da Mendez girls, who I had da hots foa. One wuz cheerleader at the high school and da uddah one always running around wit short kine shorts. Hoo....you know how it is wen us boys had raging hormones?

Of course had da neighborhood gossip, Mrs. Montejo. She spent most of da time talking over da back fence with her cohort in crime Mrs. Dudoit while hanging clothes.  If you wanted to know anything about anybody in the neighborhood all you had to do was stand within listening distance of dem two to catch up on what's what. Dose two was the first to call da house if they saw us climbing somebody's mango tree or throwing rocks at Mr. Manago's pidgeons. Mrs. Dudoit's son was a priest and she had statues of the virgin Mary and angels and  Jesus with some lambs and stuff in the front yard. She and Mrs. Montejo always was competing foa who get da mostest Catholic stuffs in their front yard.

Now I live mainland. I stay up hea 10 years now and I don't know my neighbors.  I roll into my driveway, open the electric garage door and disappear inside my own world as it closes behind us.  I sorta know the guy across the street because of his dog.  One time he was walking the dog.  I was outside washing my car. The dog came over wagging its tail.

I look up and talk to the dog.  "Hey there buddy, what's your name?"

Of course, I don't expect the dog to answer but I ask anyways.  "Jack. His name is Jack" says my neighbor coldly.

"Oh, hey Jack nice to meet you. What's your master's name?"

"His master's name is Jeff," came the answer.

I look up at Jeff.  "Hello Jeff, nice to meet you too."  Jeff nods little. He yanks Jack's leash and off they go.  That's the extent of my neighborhood knowledge. In this mainland neighborhood everyone keeps to themselves.

There's these Goth looking neighbors with a big black Humvee that I try to ignore.  One has got pierced eyebrows and wears black nail polish. He's pretty spooky.  The female has shaved her head and has a tattoo up the back of her neck of a snake. They park in front of my house and I watch them from my window as they unload crates with rope from the back of the Humvee at night.  They are both spooky.

I think it's good I don't know them.  What was I thinking? This is not like my old neighborhood in the country.  There are weird people out there.

One night around ten o'clock there's a knock at my door.  That's really weird cuz I wasn't expecting anybody.  I turn on the light outside and look through my front door Peep hole.  It's the Goth couple.  Whoa!

I open the door slowly.  "Hi. We just came in from work and we were unloading our truck." He looks at me behind round John Lennon glasses; I notice he has a silver ring through his nose and a teardrop tattoo under his left eye.

"Yeah," she continues where he stops, "we found this in your driveway." She hands me a wallet.  I look down at her outstretched arm.  It's got flowers and vines tattooed from her wrist disappearing under the sleeve of her shirt. In her hand indeed, is my wallet.

My wallet! It's got $150 in cash, all my credit cards and more!  I look at them both in wonderment.

"Um..t-t-t-thank you." I manage to say, taking the wallet from her. I must have dropped it in my driveway when I walked out to the mailbox earlier.

"No problem," she says, "we didn't want someone else to take it."

I thank them profusely and tell them I am very grateful for their honesty. I offer them money for their trouble. They refuse.  I ask them to come in for a glass of wine or coffe or someting maybe. They refuse.  They both smile, wave and walk back toward the street.

A simple act of kindness from an unexpected source.  What a humbling experience. A lesson in perception and judgment.   I will look at my Goth neighbors with a new respect. You never know where you will find aloha.  Aloha Happens ... when and where you least expect it.  I still wonder what they unload late at night from the back of their truck.

Kamaka Brown is on staff at AW. Originally from North Shore of Oahu, he now is a tropical transplant living on the West Coast. He is a stand-up comic performing in clubs, concerts and other venues in Honolulu, Las Vegas, Pacific Northwest and Los Angeles.

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Written by Clinton Lee

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Every New Years Eve our close family and friends gathered at our house in Kaimuki and celebrated da biggest festive celebration of da lunar year. My faddah used to go down weah da neighborhood slop man raised his pigs and had wun slaughtered special for us. We stood and watched as da Filipino man picked wun outta da pen and diligently killed it right dere live and in color. Not da prettiest sight fo' witness but such is da life and death lesson for all of us young keiki. Da sight and smells still resonates in my mind to dis very day.

Early in da morning, all da sober young men folks would set up da fire pit and take turns spinning da pig round and round da fire on wun special-made spit. Had lots of time to talk story, smoke cigars, and tell all kine dirty lies. Naturally, beer and high balls had to be in dere someplace, yuh? By da time da huli huli pig wuz all pau and ono crispy, so wuz all dem red-faced piluted buggahs tryin like heck fo' stand up and walk straight. In da meantime all da womenfolk would be busy preparing da special kine kau kau ranging from seafood to dozens of ono kine ethnic dishes.

Since I wuz brought up and raised in wun predominantly Pake environment, most of da prepared dishes ranged from fresh steamed slaughtered chicken from da back yard, birdnest and sharkfin soups, chow mein, dried oyster and shrimp wrapped in pig stomach lining, several different kines of steamed and fried dumplings, roast duck, sweet sour uhu, kau yuk, bean curd, chow fun, etc. Pot luck was always the case with local folks so things like beef stew and curry, kanten, teriyaki stick, sashimi, fresh tako and poke, sweet sour pork, nishime, nori maki as well as football sushis were always a compliment to da occasion. Come past midnight, da celebration continued wit steaming hot pig intestine jook (gup dai) and piping hot chocolate for da small keeds. Whoo, da ono! I tell you wat, nobody complained about going hungry, az fo' shuah!

Of course us keeds wuz way too busy burning firecrackers, shooting off bottle rockets,  and popping cracker balls li'dat and getting into oddah kine youthful mischief. Come midnight, my faddah nevah failed to always have dat long string of 4-layer Duck Brand firecrackers (da kine 40 to 50 foot long wit da beeg round bomb cluster at da top end) hung from da top of da garage tied to wun long bamboo pole. I tink wuz eiddah 50,000 or mebbe 100,000 count firecrackers? Seem like wen burn for at least half hour owah more it seem? It took several barrels afterwards fo' clean up and rake up all da red papah off da driveway. My faddah used to always brag dat if he wen have wun good year, da fiyahcrackahs going sta' get longah and longah. Seem like every year da string got longah and longah. Dat means had moah and moah barrels of papah fo' rake up. Guess who's job wuz dat?

Getting back to fiyahcrackahs, we used to always looked forward to seeing wat my faddah used to get from his wholesale distributers every year. He had special connections getting all his fireworks directly from his wholesale suppliers at a fraction of wat the normal public bought dem for. He definitely was a kid at heart wen it came to New Years Eve. I would estimate that he had at least several hundred dollars worth of aerial bombs, Roman candles, cracker balls, sparklers, skyrockets, and different kine firecrackers stuffed in several large boxes purchased way before Christmas and stored next to da refrigerator. We always looked forward to Christmas but New Years Eve was definitely da beegest ting to look forward to.

Ah yeah, New Years Eve. Dose were da bestest days of my early youth az I can recall (sigh). Yup, I can still hear all my dear family membahs (most of them gone) conversing about 10 decibels above normal (just like typical excited Chinese arguing about who going pay da bill ovah dinnah)...Compei..."Gung Hee Fat Choy"! FAT CHOY!

Recently retired and living the "Life of Riley" in Torrance, CA. Working part time as a private aerospace contractor when bored and in need of extra spending money. Learning to grow old with the grandchildren and enjoying life to the fullest.

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Written by Mokihana White

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We had two mango trees in our yard up in Manoa Valley. We wen call um Da Top Mango Tree and Da Bottom Mango Tree. How original! Us keeds would climb da trees way up high into da top branches. We could spy on peepo around or ack like da big branches was horses dat we could ride. Sometimes I wen climb up high an jass sit dea, enjoying da soft makani blowing ova me, gently rocking da branch I was sitting on. I specially love doing dat wen da trees stay full of da yellow blossoms.

Befoa da mangos wen get fully ripe, we wen pick some an eat um wit shoyu, sliced up. Ho da ono! Of course, a wen ripe da mango, us keeds was da mango raiders. Den we would climb da trees and pick all we could, den stuff ourselves wit da sweet fruit, da juice dripping down our chins an all ova our clothes. My maddah wen get aftah us, cuz she like use da mangos foah chutney and salads an stuffs mostly jass sliced up in one big bowl.

But suddenly, every year, seemed like we no could keep up wit da mangos. Had way too many! So some of dem, mostly da ones from da tops of da trees wea we no could reach, wen drop onto da grass. By da time dey wen drop, dey was choke ripe; sometimes dey wen pop open ontop da grass, making one icky mess.

About dat time, my papa-san wen tell us keeds was time foa pick up da squishy mangos cuz he like cut da grass. Since Manoa Valley gets ovah 100 inches of rain a yea, da times he could cut da grass on Sunday wen he pau hana wasn't frequent. So we no could waste time picking up dem mangos.

But ho, how we wen whine! Aww, Daddy, we no like pick up da mangos! Da buggahs stay all squishy an yukky! But our whining wen fall on deaf ear. He wen tell us get busy.

U shoulda seen us! Us girls had da two-finga pick-up. Touch as litto of da mango as possible. Pick um up, an hope da buggah no broke befoa we wen poot um insai da rubbish bag. Cuz if broke, den all da squishy going land on our bare feets. Eewwwww! My braddah, he no care. He wen pick up da squishy mango any kine way, an wen pretend he stay going chrow um on us girls. Den my faddah wen yell, ÈEh u keeds! I need foa cut da grass! Nemmine dat kine!
Sometimes da grass stay long enuf dat we no could see da squishy mangos, and ick! Down wen come our bare feets ontop all dat squishyness. Den we wen do dis hop-run to da hose so can wash off our feets.

Finally we stay all pau, at least foa anoddah week, an my faddah could cut da grass.

Today, here on da mainland, I buy mangos from da stoa, wea dey stay all stacked in nice, neat rows. Dey come from South America, were probably picked green, and oni have half da flavah of da ones I wen grow up with. But if I like foa eat mangos, dis is my oni choice. I look at dem, pick up a few ripe ones (for one exorbitant price) an put dem in my cart. I would give anyting foa mangos grown where da Hawaiian trade winds blow, whose flavor stay unmatched, and come from da tree wea underneath, squishy mangos litter da ground.

I was brought up in Manoa Valley on O'ahu. I wen grad University High School. Married one mainland haole boy and da rest is history. We live in da country and have sheep and llamas. I'm on staff at Alohaworld and love writing on my blog, playing 'ukulele and guitar, handspinning, knitting and talking stories in pidgin. My husband Nolemana and I have a real estate appraisal business and live in Damascus, Oregon.

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