Ohana

My cousin Grace came to visit a couple of days ago. She and her husband just left this morning.

A little history -- her story is so close to my story not just because we are double first cousins (her dad and my dad & her mom and my mom were siblings), but because we were on two ends of a spectrum. She was the eldest grandchild and I was the youngest for a good long time. She's 12 years older than I and we resemble each other so much that I simply think if I want to see what I look like in the future, I just need to look at my cousin.

Damn, I still look good in 12 years.

On this visit, she told me stories about our family -- the one that existed before I was born.

I was 2 years away from being born when my father's father died. The stories I can remember being told of him weren't terribly flattering. I remember being proud that he was a luna (boss) on the sugar plantation so he was one of the few who rode a horse. But I was also told that he was a womanizer who would find the prettiest of the new arrivals and bed them if he could. I was told that he was merciless when it came to punishing his children for misdeeds -- that he'd tell the kids to cut their own switches for their whippings. He was vicious to the point that my grandmother would intervene asking if he wanted to kill his children that day.

But this week, I was told of a grandfather that I didn't even know I missed. The one I think I would have loved. The one whose lap I would have crawled up in and in whose arms I would have fallen asleep. If only he had waited here to meet me.

My cousin told me about crabbing with my grandfather, all the uncles and her dad. My grandfather was a water luna for the plantation so he had the keys to all the gates and roads on the plantation. There was a beach that was only accessible with Papa's keys and every Sunday, the extended family would get together to fish.The kids would wade or swim out to a platform from which my grandfather would lower a cone shaped crab pot. He would tie aku head to the cage and because the visibility was so clear the kids would peer over the edge of the platform to watch the crabs climb to the pot. At some point, Papa would judge the pot to be full enough and he and the uncles would huki it up as fast as they could. They'd dump their catch into a big bin that they would bring back for Mama to cook.

On this particular day, all the uncles were ready to go home with their spoils. They tried to convince my grandfather to leave but Papa was sure there was a big one just waiting to be caught. He lowered the pot one more time and they saw it:  a huge Samoan crab.  The kids held their breath as they and Papa watched it cautiously approach the tattered aku head. The second the last leg crossed over into the basket, Papa and the uncles quickly pulled the pot out of the water. Papa threw it onto the dock and the big crab was spoiling for a fight. It had its claws up ready to pinch and was hurriedly scooting towards the side of the dock. My father was wearing rubber boots that day, got behind the crab and stepped on its back. Uncle Johnny quickly put sticks into the crab's claws so it would clamp down on them. So satisfied, the remaining two brothers tied up the claws with lassoed string and into the bin it went.

The family returned to the house in Ewa victorious.

Grandma prepped the pot, putting in tomatoes, onions, garlic. All my cousin could remember was that it was a big pot on the stove and although Grandma was talking in Ilocano so she couldn't understand what she said, Grandma was obviously happy. They were going to eat good tonight. Then Grandma put the crabs into the boiling water including the large Samoan crab.

At first, nothing happened. But there was fight still left in that big crab. Grace remembers its legs reaching up over the edge of the pot. Mama grabbed the pot lid and slammed it down repeatedly on the pot, forcing the would be escapee to meet its fate.

My cousin doesn't remember if she ate those crab. Only that watching Grandma cook them was very traumatic.

The story of my grandfather crabbing with his adult boys just enchanted me. I think because I'm a parent myself, the thought of the teaching and training my grandfather must have given his boys puts me in awe. The way my cousin remembers it, she was maybe 7 years old at the time, the uncles all moved like a well oiled machine. Each one knew exactly what to do and how to do their part. It was over in moments. She didn't say but I imagine how contented my grandfather must have been to see his boys work together so well. Even the trust of throwing that prize crab onto the dock just knowing his boys would take care of it amazes me. I imagine that those Sundays must have been the culmination of everything he had come to this country to achieve. His kids were all educated or on their way to being so. His boys had children of their own and they knew how to fish and crab and clam -- to harvest from the bounty of the sea -- to feed this brood. His boys were so close, they worked together as one.

Shortly after the claiming of that large Samoan crab, my grandfather went to have lunch with my cousin's mom. Aunty Lydia was a physician. He complained of difficulty swallowing. Aunty took him to lunch to observe Grandpa's ability to swallow which had become so impaired he ended up spitting out his food as he couldn't make it go down. Aunty ordered studies and discovered then that Papa had a brain tumor.

It was operated on and while they were able to remove the tumor, during recovery he suffered a massive stroke. He was never the same again.  My grandmother refused to let him go and with her care he lived for another 2 years. He died when Grace was around 10 years old.

I wish I had been able to meet him. I wish I had memories like Grace had of Grandpa.

Ah well, at least I have stories of him now.