Dear
Dennis,
Previous entry:
Class
of 1969, Pahoa School: W, 01/16/02
I learned that you are
in a post-surgery coma, so I write this from my heart to yours,
from one spirit to another.
I remember seeing you
for the first time. You and your cousin, Trudy, joined our class
when Kalapana School, a school with one class of students ranging
from kindergarten to sixth grade and one teacher, Mrs. Sharp --
who also served as principal -- was closed. In comparison,
our class with 26 students must have seemed huge to
you.
You and Trudy fit in
right away and became one of "us." You were both shy --
on the quiet side -- and oh, so well-behaved. This
just popped into my mind's eye:
You, Dennis, in your
favorite red and white Aloha shirt, with your toothy, disarming
smile, waving to me from the blue school bus that took you home
down that curvy road to Kalapana.
>>
Click here
for an audio clip of you singing, "Holei,"
a song dedicated to your home village, Kalapana,
courtesy of mele.com
The world famous
"Black Sand Beach" at Kalapana,
that we knew as Kaimű
>> Click here
for a stroll down memory lane,
down Kalapana way, the way it was...
the way we'll forever remember it.
We watched each other
grow into adolescence. I'm chuckling as I remember the kolohe
guys in our class. They'd embarass us blossoming girls by running
their hands down our backs to snap our newest acquisitions, our
bras. Of course, you never did that. You
were a gentleman, as were your brothers, Lenneth, Edwin Jr., and
Morris. Even as boys.
Your beautiful
Hawaiian Mama and brawny Portuguese Daddy raised you with solid
Hawaiian values. These two Hawaiian proverbs come to mind, when I
think of you:
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E noho iho i ke opu weuweu, mai
ho`oki`eki`e.
Remain among the clumps of grass
and do not elevate yourself.
It means:
Don't show off.
Don't get puffed up and big-headed.
Be ha`aha`a (humble),
which does not mean
to be timid, submissive,
and spineless,
but have an inner self-confidence,
which gives rise to quiet strength,
which is far more admirable
than self-importance, arrogance, and egotism.
~~~~~
Nana ka maka;
ho`olohe ka pepeiao;
pa`a ka waha.
Observe with the eyes;
listen with the ears;
shut the mouth.
It means:
This is how one truly learns.
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We had lots of
spirit. In 7th grade, we gathered around transistor radios,
listening to the World Series. I don't remember which team you or
I rooted for. The Yankees? The Dodgers? This, I do
know, we always rooted for the same team, the Pahoa
School Daggers. Our school spirit was huge, as was our class
spirit.
Remember how hard we
worked on harmonizing "Singing
Bamboo" under Mr. Isbell's direction? Placing in the song
competition in Hilo was one of our most triumphant, joyous
moments. Many years later, in 1997, you put a smile on every one
of our faces when you included "our song" on your
"Sweet Leilani" album.You preserved a cherished memory
of that special time for all of us. And I'm not the only one who
accompanies you whenever we play your CD. Mahalo!
>>
Click here
for an audio clip
of you singing, "Singing
Bamboo,"
courtesy of mele.com
And then there were
the May Day
and Christmas
pageants, when we'd practice as a class for weeks on end, working
on taming our left feet and sometimes holding on to each other's
hands for dear life. Later, in our joint boy-girl PE dance lessons
in the Pahoa School gym, we held hands again as we learned to
square and ballroom dance.
I remember well
dancing with you. You had rhythm. And you never once stepped
on my feet. Thanks for that. You also did a mean twist
and your monkey and continental walk weren't bad either. The 60's.
Ahh, those were the days.
>>
Click here
for an audio clip of you singing,
"Could I Have This Dance,"
courtesy of mele.com
As kids, we
experienced the good times and the not-so-good times together: Norman
K lost his father, while Calvin H, we knew, had lost his when he
was only four; Arsenio's house burned down; lava flows wiped out
Kapoho village and Warm Springs; we saw the disastrous effects of
the tsunami that swept through Hilo, as well as Hurricane Dot's
strong winds and huge, pounding waves to our Puna coastline; and
we lost George
Luis and Hayward "Kimo" Peleiholani to the Viet Nam
war. We shared the pain and losses.
We always
rallied. We had lots of spirit. Supportive spirit.
We also shared one of
the scariest moments in history together: In 1963, President
Kennedy was shot and his life hung in the balance. We were 7th
graders and we shared that time and space in Mrs. Ho's English
class. Together, we prayed for our president, his wife, and his
young children, Caroline and little John-John.
This is a scary time
for your family. Leialoha, your
wife, is young. Your kids are still keiki. I pray for
all of you, Those kids need their daddy. God
bless their Daddy Dennis.
"God bless my
Daddy,
who is over there.
Said a tiny little boy
in his tiny little prayer.
That is my Daddy,
so please take care.
Said a tiny little boy
in his tiny little prayer."
>>
Click here
for an audio clip of you singing
"God Bless My Daddy" with your cousins,
courtesy of mele.com
Dennis, I am in the
dark as to your condition. Was the stroke mild? Or serious
enough to incapacitate you? Not knowing, I place
you in God's Hands and in His Grace. You are "over
there," and like that tiny little boy, I pray for you.
Also, know that I am rooting
for you all the way. Remember, we've got spirit.
How much?
LOTS!
Home
"Life is a Gift."
With
Aloha, your friend and classmate,
Author
Unknown
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"The
only gift is a portion of thyself..."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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