Travels of Note: Hilo With Dad

After 6 long days at sea relocating from French Polynesia, we pulled into Hilo early that Tuesday morning. I was extremely excited to be there. Not necessarily because I wanted to get off the ship, or see any special sights on the Big Island, but to finally see my father, who was driving 2 hours from Kona on the opposite side of the island to see me. It was only 2 months since I had seen him back home in California, but on a ship it seems like a lifetime.

I walked down the gangway a little before 9am and after a quick phone call, he picked me up in a little white 1991 VW Golf. I get in the car and we drive back to the little hotel he stayed at the night before. On the way to the hotel we drove down Banyan Dr. where celebrities plant Banyan trees and have small signs in front of them with their names and date of birth and death. We made usual small talk about what I did in Tahiti and other things I did on the ship; and finally we got to the hotel and his room.

He managed to get a room close to the ocean and with a view of the harbor. He said he was able to see my ship pull all the way into the dock at about 6am. He sat and watched the whole thing in amazement he told me as the ship seemed too large for the port. He continued to talk (as he loves to do) about the frogs at night and how he could hear hundreds of them croaking as he went to sleep last night. We hung out in the room and we looked at the ocean for a bit before we decided to go for a walk.

Out of the front door of the hotel we walk along Banyan Dr. We talk more and caught up on events going on in each other’s lives. He talked about all the madness that has been going on in our family and tries to tell the stories with some humor. He complains about things and describes ironic scenarios that happened to him recently that remind me of some kind of episode of Seinfeld. We get to an old bridge and walk over it that takes us to Coconut Island. The island is really a park that is what is left of a part of town that was devastated by the Tsunami of 1960. We walk by a large, gorgeous Almond tree in the park. Half of the leaves on the tree were green and the others were a fiery red color that undoubtedly catches people’s attention. We also noticed some lava rock structures, which use to have some function but is in such dire ruins, its impossible to tell what they were for. We climbed on one of the structures and sat and talked more.

He says to me he’s getting tired. He doesn’t want to go back to Los Angeles. He doesn’t want to go back to work. He wants to just stay here and just live the rest of his days in Hawaii. A few years back when his father died, he left him some inheritance which he used to buy a small house in Kona which he has been fixing up to retire in. He has never said to me before that he has been tired of work or Los Angeles of any of that. That has’nt been the kind of guy he is. He lives to work. He has that old school mentality, and for me to hear him says this, tells me that he is finally accepting that he is growing old.

Growing old is something that for me seems so far off that it seems impossible. Young people live and never really think much of the concept. Why should we? Growing old is something I think we can never truly comprehend until we are already there staring it in the face. Talking to my father now and hearing his words, I now am starting to get a small grasp of what it may be like. With retirement coming in only 5 more years for him, I think he will be more than ready for it.

We walk off Coconut Island and walk into the Queen Liliuokalani Gardens, which was adjacent to the bridge. The garden is influenced by the Japanese immigrants and is transparent in the architecture and landscaping in the gardens. We walk through it and point out all the interesting trees and plants in the garden as we like to do. Strange Seco Palms and Monkey Pod trees and even the trees that aren’t indigenous to the Island we look at and talk about.

We start to walk back to the hotel and it starts pouring rain. We find a park bench under a Banyan tree and sit, seeing if we can wait the rain out. As we wait there for 10 minutes or so, we realize that it isn’t going to let up. We make a break for it and walk back. Walking as fast as possible, we still managed to get pretty soaked. The rain in Hawaii though is usually warm enough that it really does feel like a heated shower. It’s pleasant since we don’t get cold from the rain as I would back in California. Still we managed to get back to the hotel looking like a couple of drowned rats.

I made arrangements to get him permission to board my ship for the day so we drove down to the port. After a few minutes of security measures and pat downs, we eventually got onto the ship. I showed him around and took him to my cabin. I showed him the inside and I changed cloths so we could go get lunch. After we left my cabin, we walk to the other side of the ship and went up to the passenger buffet. Along the way he admired the workmanship and the woodwork on board, as I knew he would. I could also tell that the ship made him a little uncomfortable. He worked for years (and continues to do so) down at the Port of Los Angeles and he usually only sees the outside of the ships or the crew decks, which are not nearly as nice. So for him to be going through there, I think he may of felt a little out of place.

We got to the buffet, got our food and sat down. A friend of mine from the crew staff saw us and introduced her self to my father and sat down. After the usual small talk my father took the reigns and starting talking both of our ears off. Telling his stories of when he was in Hawaii and the ships that he worked on. Once her eyes started to look glazed over and her smile slowly eroded away, I took the opportunity to get us out of there. We said our good byes and made our way back to my cabin. After changing back into my street cloths, I gave him the “behind the scenes” tour of the ship. Showed him the crew gym, bar, stairways, food freezers and the crew mess. This was obviously more him style so he asked a ton of questions and seemed to be more intrigued it. He said to me “Your grandfather would have been proud of you. He was in the Navy and none his children actually worked as a seaman like he did. He would of loved to see this.” I took his words as a high praise. I think making anyone in your family proud of something positive you’ve done, is something to be proud of… even if my grandfather was an asshole… but I digress.

We decided with the few remaining hours I had in port, we would go to downtown Hilo and take a look around. We drove the 15 min and found ourselves a parking spot right in front. Looking around, a lot of the buildings looked like original buildings from the 1940’s of 50’s. It gave the area its charm. Most of the stores cater to the tourism trade with nick-knack shops and T-shirt stores and an old tyme candy shop; nothing really of great interest to the both of us. We wandered aimlessly in and out of stores. One of the stores reminded me of my grandmother’s house with all these antiques and small, worthless random knick-knacks. It gave me the chills.

We finally got to a shop that sold outrigger-paddling attire and gear. My father grabbed me by the arm darted in there. He paddled in a famous race in Hawaii in the 1970’s and prided himself in telling every person with a set of ears in the great state of Hawaii the story. We went in there and I took a seat for what was about to be a very lengthy scenario. He introduces himself to the very nice woman who was working there and then it began. He told the stories in full, un-edited, overly embellished detail. After that, he talked about different kinds of wood he liked and how he wants to build a coffee table. He talked about all the Samoan families he knew. He talked about the famous canoe race. Meanwhile I just sat there in the corner and tried to stay awake. It’s not that these stories he tells are boring. In fact, it’s just the opposite. They are actually really good and interesting stories. But I have heard them for nearly 27 years and after all that time; I’ve grown a little tired of them. After about 25 minutes he looks over and sees me sitting there. It transports him back from Memory Lane and brings him back to reality. He politely buys a T-Shirt and a sticker and we finally get out of there. I looked at my watch and notice we only have about 45 minutes left. We walked quickly through the farmers market and eyed all the fresh fruit for sale. None of which we actually purchased.

We made our way to the car and drove back to the port. Even though we didn’t do a whole lot of exciting things, it was still really great to see my father. His stories may bore me and we may not see eye to eye on something’s, but it still doesn’t changed the fact that he is my dad. He is the man who raised me nearly by himself while working two jobs with little assistance from our mother. He would do anything for me and I would do the same for him. Seeing him that day made me appreciate having him a lot more than I may have in the past. It gave me perspective and most of all, the realization of the worth of family.