An unwritten rule for local newspaper columnists comes into play today, the morning of The Night Before Christmas. We set aside personal views on the holiday and what it has become, because this moment of cultural tradition abhors variance from the norm.
Still, this will be different.
Typically, this would be the place the local columnist urges the county, the city and the parks departments to get together and develop one good field with lights in Hilo that would be suitable for football and soccer, at the least, for the whole community. Anything but an extravagant desire, it would be on a scale similar to what was built at Keaau High School — without the track — but such a structure would allow for annual events on the Hilo side. We do tradition well here in small doses, an annual volleyball tournament, a marathon, canoes, but we won’t make the effort to bring together football and soccer. Unfortunately, leaders are needed to make these things happen and we seem to be in short supply of those types just now.
This would normally be the place to urge an investor to look at Pahoa for a bowling center to replace the former Hilo Lanes, and while they are at it, they could consider other events for Pahoa, such as a Hot Air Balloon or kite festival — or both.
But this isn’t a normal time for the columnist, so tradition, in this case, is altered a bit, at least for this year.
Here’s why — I just found out about my biological mother a couple weeks ago, thanks to the gift of a DNA test from my wife earlier this year. I was adopted, an only child throughout my life, no idea of who or where my biological parents were or might be. I know there are others, and this is for them.
Mine wasn’t a bad life, growing up with white privilege as an only child.
There wasn’t much to complain about but I was always aware of how much time I spent listening to adults discussing adult things. I was drenched in that side of life unknown to my friends, who were distracted by brothers and sisters.
My parents did the best they could, my mom lived with us the last 10 years of her life, finally passing away at 102, 11 years after my dad died.
That was several years ago, and here we are on the Big Island, where I always wanted to be, enjoying life, but yeah, even as an old person, you still wonder from time-to-time about your biology, your genes, your mother and what might have been.
Very distant relatives began contacting me through 23 And Me, the DNA research tool. Then there was a second cousin, and another, a first cousin, then my niece, and just a couple weeks ago, my sister emailed me.
Turns out I am the oldest of six, with three sisters and two brothers, and a mother, still alive at 91 in Bellevue, Wa. My father, who never knew about me and is long since gone, was never involved. My mother lived her whole life in Bellevue, a city where I worked as the sports editor of the Journal-American newspaper back when it first went daily in the late 1970s.
We will have a lot to discuss when I visit her next month. Did she know who I was? How close did we live to each other? Did we pass each other at Safeway without realizing the connection? Did she work somewhere that might have caused us to speak to each other?
I am told her mental faculties are failing, that dementia is creeping in, yet my youngest sister relates mom says she thinks of me daily. They say her memory of me is strong, confirming the notion that in dementia, the oldest memories hang on the longest.
Ohana, I have come to learn late in life, is aloha. There’s a difference in knowing something intellectually and having experiential knowledge. The organic feel of blood brothers and sisters, I’m realizing, is something most people go from cradle to grave without ever learning, so it has been empowering to finally know my Ohana.
I have an understanding of family from both sides now, for which I’m grateful.
But on the occasion of the holiday, columnists are still called to be mindful of gifts, for readers who like to dream. So what seems more appropriate this Christmas are lessons meaningful to me that you might be able to grab onto and use as you grind through your life.
Since I have come to know about my mother, I realized a lot of my life lessons are actually coaching axioms that have only now bubbled up into the forefront of my thoughts, heavy with meaning. Can’t explain why, but it’s definitely happening.
There were sayings, aphorisms, I heard that stuck to me like mental plaster, and now can I see how they were connected to my upbringing. Adopted, only children learn to listen, to take insights from elders and use them as guardrails or freeway entrances on your journey.
One of the best for me came from Bernie Bickerstaff, the former Seattle SuperSonics coach.
The player is insignificant, it was the message that mattered. A new player had come in a trade and after meeting reporters upon arrival, said all the right things about the new team. Did that mean something to Bernie?
“No,” he said. “I ignore what they say anymore, everyone watches ESPN, they all know how to look, how to act and what to say. None of that does anything for me, none of it helps the team, you don’t get points for interviews here.
“Show me who you are,” Bickerstaff said. “How good a teammate are you? How hard will you work to get better? How much basketball intelligence do you have? Talking is nothing.”
A football coach put it slightly differently.
“What you do speaks so well,” said Chuck Knox, coach of the Buffalo Bills, Seattle Seahawks and Los Angeles Rams, “I don’t need to hear what you say.”
Over the years you would hear the same coaching cliches from different coaches, different sports, different eras, but Knox had a personal favorite that defined his life and how he coached and then made an indelible imprint on this reporter.
He said, “Blame nobody, expect nothing, do something,” and those six words were as applicable to my life and career as they were to players in the National Football League.
Just now, it means more to me than ever. I wasn’t a victim, there was nobody to blame. My needs were met, my expectations few. All I had to do was find my path in life and that last part about doing something is universal.
When you have a home and a purpose, life is good. When you feel family rise from within as opposed to something you wear like a label, it’s clear, Ohana is aloha.
Comments? Suggestions? Contact Bart at barttribuneherald@gmail.com
