Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 25, Number 6, 1 June 2008 — Time in a bottle [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Time in a bottle

At 22, my stepdad Iuanito "Iuaning" Cristobal worked the sugar plantations in '46. As a teen during WWII he anguished over the killing of his father and the passing of his mother, and the numerous souls he witnessed murdered by the enemy - he killed a Iapanese soldier to save a person's life. No one messed with Juaning. A wellrespected tough guy, hard as stone - warmth

and tender emotions could not penetrate this brazen mass of rock; but mom could with the son and the two little girls she gave him. After my dad's passing I felt my three brothers and I were out of the picture when Juanito eame into our lives.

There were no father-and-son talks, definitely no hugs and kisses, and never any I love yous; after all, how do you get that from a pōhaku man? But aside from his conunanding grunts I learned something about Juaning - he was a true survivor. He'd eome home drenched in herbicide poison, and soaked to the bone with sweat and fertilizer dust. His face was charred from the sun, his hands sliced and bleeding from sugar eane blades, his gloves torn and patched since we had no money for new ones. Mom welcomed him with a fruit ean of iee water as he sat on the splintered stool he made from sugar Uume lumber. When not sparring cocks with a prospective buyer, he'd be grooming his birds with his manly, yet tender strokes to its wings and carriage, from comb to its tail tip. His birds always stood tall and proud and won many fights. In those days, a cock's brutal strength was real, not juiced with steroids. The winner always took the dead birds to feed his family, sometimes 20-plus birds to pluek and dress. We shared a lot of game birds around our eamp; its toush dark meat would slow

boil for hours on the kerosene stove to i soften before adding the bagaoong (fish sauce) and green papaya with marungay leaves. I saw Juaning fire up scraps of Uume lumber and guava branches to pound and shape a 12-inch knife from a Jeep leaf spring. That very knife carved and shaped the Uume lumber into his ehieken coops - all built by hand without the use of any power tools; and the same knife I used to carve out my 7-foot bazooka spear gun.

As the eldest, desiring to be a man, I placed a heavy burden upon myself to show Juaning that I too could contribute to the household. Whether diving for fish or picking limu or 'opihi;

or going into the mountain streams to catch 'o 'opu and opae, picking wild bananas and mountain apple and warabi (hō'i'o, fern shoots), killing a ehieken or a pig - I could take care of my family too. I could dive deep into Leleiwi and Richardsons in Keaukaha and bring up spiny lobsters or seven-eleven crabs. I'd tell my brothers it was kapu for Juaning. Juanito

and mom usually ate dinner in the kitchen and we'd eat in the living room watching the 6 o'eloek news. There were no thank yous or "Son, that was delicious" or any verbal response for gratitude; but his appreciation showed in the kitchen sink, the lobster and seven-eleven crab stripped elean - head and all. As a kid, Juanito and I never saw eye to eye. Juaning coimnunicated by means of telepathy mixed with a seldom heard "pucking sonna va bit"; in that, every survival skill that I leaned from hini was through observing, not telling. Juanito never made it past the second grade, nioni read for him, but he knew how to sign his name and do math, totally left-handed and left-brain logic this man was. Mom and Juanito are aging, they eat healthy, but still the pains in their joints and insides persists; but they still get time to take care of the yard and plants . . . a little bit here,

a little bit there, then rest in the shade and talk story ... often together, often alone. Honor your fathers and mothers, even if you still don't see eye to eye. Instead, seek the

spirit by humbling yourselves and appreciating what life you had amidst the turmoil of growing up; there's something pleasing hidden in the mess. Spend time with them - bring some fresh poke and poi. Make some smoke meat or pipikaula, bake 'em a pie or hunt for some kūlolo at Tamashiro's or KTA, or take 'em out a go eat ... jus' spend some time before time comes to an abrupt end. It's hard to imagine life without nioni and Juanito - we've become more than just family ... I think we've become

best friends. .īeno Enoeeneio writes about the many hats he wears. Contact him at pointman_ jeno@msn.com. Ē

I No one said it I I If I could save time in a bottle better than the The fjj.S( thing that I'd like to do late Jirn Croce's Is to save every day Till eternity passes away hme ui a Bottle : T . . , ... Just to spend them with you If I could make days last forever If words could make wishes eome true I'd save every day like a treasure and then, Again, I would spend them with you But there never seems to be enough time To do the things you want to do Onee you find them M "•^>1 I've looked around enough to know m That you're the one I want to go I Through time with JH

If I had a box just for wishes And dreams that had never eome true The box would be empty Except for the memory Of how they were answered by you But there never seems to be enoueh time

\ To do the things you want to do I Onee you find them I've looked around enough to know I That you're the one I want to go / Through time with M I love you Lulu ... I love ī you too, Juaning. Your best / friend, your Big Boy, Jiimny " «

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NA PĀPALE • MANY H ATS

By Jimmy F. "Jeiiū'' Enneenein

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