Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Candy in the Hand

I drive a ’97 Crown Vic, a blue on blue faux cruiser, unscratched, totally stock, previously owned by Auntie Pearl herself, Ford. Very Ford. As Ford as you can get. I paid a thousand bucks for it on the 3rd day we arrived in Hawaii. While mommy works, the kids, Mesa 4, Reef 2, and I drive the Big Island. We listen to Miles Davis on cassette – courtesy of a Ka'u market. Miles Davis will take you places and so will the Ford. We go up and down jungle dirt roads, mountain roads, old cane roads and stop at all beaches. It’s hard dragging two kids from a beach, very hard, negotiations are needed - offer things like boot-boot, sometimes upping the ante to candy. Candy in the hand works but it’s not always I have candy in the hand, so I promise the unseen and they’re too smart for that. When unseen candy fails, I grab’em, hold’em between my arms like two exploding footballs and carry them across the sand, palm fronds, Kiawe twigs and cigarette butts, hoist’em into the back seat and strap them down. After the crying stops and Sketches of Spain seeps into their bulging minds, minds that are cataloging everything for the life ahead, they often start to nod then nap, heads slumping at impossible angles, and as I watch them from the rear view mirror, I wonder: What am I teaching them?