My Hawaiian Life, part 1

Two and a half years in, I live pretty much ensconced in a Hawaiian life, and it is good. But a lot has happened since the lava eruption of 2018, and I have decided what better opportunity to attempt to create some record of it than while in social distancing mode during a pandemic.

Although retired from a forty-year career as a teacher, I have a part-time job in a different career field these days--working as a paraprofessional with at-risk youth under the direction of licensed mental health therapists. Granted, my actual working labors are on hold at the moment as I engage in more stringent social distancing. Still, in more normal times I spend one-on-one time with my assigned kids, usually out somewhere in the community or driving around in my car. We talk and we do stuff and we talk. Except when one of your kids is a four-year-old. Instantly, the DOING totally dominates.

Until last fall, all of my kids have been teens or pre-teens except for a brief stint with a seven-year-old. And then this therapist approached me with the chance to work with the four-year-old, and the four-year-old was still three!

First of all, after serious toil, sweat, and almost tears (until YouTube and my car owner's manual saved the day), this happened--

something I had come to believe I would be omitting from my life experiences.

And then, this happened:

There was a three-year-old in my life for two hours twice a week!

Now he's four, and I have become well acquainted with the playgrounds of at least eight parks situated from Hilo to Mt. View to Pahoa--in addition to their restroom facilities, as adequate or inadequate they may be. I swing on swings again...when I'm not pushing said four-year-old on his swing so he can "fly." Occasionally, I even slide down the slide at his behest.

I now accept full blame for introducing another human being to the pleasurable hilarity of popping bubble wrap with fingers and/or by walking or jumping on it. I have returned to a zoo--a place with which I have a conflicted relationship since having had opportunities to view so many of those same animals in their natural habitat--because a kid with an intense playground obsession will forsake it all (cool zoo playground included) to lead me to each to new animal, to illuminate with steady chatter the details of teeth or eyes or color or sound, showing me again how to see with new vision the splendor and wonder of the world. I have learned to look for sharks at grates over street drains, although I still refrain from feeding them grass and I only listen to the four-year-old regale us all with the "Baby Shark" song. I construct castles again with building blocks, glory in building a tower, and screech-laugh at the destruction of a collapse. I have discerned that for a four-year-old, one with impulse control issues who is rarely allowed into the interior of many commercial establishments, a store can be a fantasy realm where even the discovery of shoes or red juice or blue juice or bread or a ball is a magical thing.

And I am humbled at his generosity and unexpected concern for me: I bring him snacks, and he is ever willing to share. One time I gave him a small package of Oreos, which he opened (with a little help from me, but he was in charge!) and then gave me one cookie for every one he ate himself. When he has multi-colored Gold Fish for a snack, we now play a game where we identify how many and what color(s) I receive. With colors, he is spot-on; with numbers greater than three, not so much. Numbers beyond three generally acquire the label "lots." And then there's the umbrella, something you may have already surmised holds great fascination for him. I carry two in my car because, you know, I live in a rainy land. When he enters my car, he inquires about HIS umbrella. He always wants to take it with him to the playground or wherever we may disembark. but I insist that it has to be raining. One time at the zoo, the day was misty, moisty, and I let him bring HIS umbrella, but I did not carry the second one. Eventually, when it began to rain with more intent, he wanted to protect me, too, with his umbrella. Of course, he also wanted to hold the umbrella, so you can imagine how well that worked. Still, I crouch-walked with him under that umbrella for several stretches, and I bet we looked cute!

Little kids, though, are not inhibited by social norms. Boogers and bathroom exploits, particularly the preponderance of toiletting explanations regarding "shi-shi" and "doodoo," can give one pause, especially when one holds said kid's hand quite frequently. Nevertheless, I am missing my four-year-old this week. Living life with the joie de vivre of a four-year-old is surely a worthy aspiration.