SMALL
KIDS INFILTRATE A LUAU
Meaning, you saw them everywhere, kind
of like leaves carried in a gust of wind.
For Rob and me they made the luau.
But it almost didn’t happen . . .
Once more, our very large immediate
family (4 generations—now grown to 39 members) were on vacation, thanks to our
leader, who refers to himself as “Spongebob.”
Each year, wherever we’re headed, the members get themselves there,
whereupon Spongebob takes over. (Many a
friend has asked, “Can I join your family? Nobody would ever notice.” Which might be true.)
This time 29 of us made it to Kiahuna,
on the island of Kauai.
There must have been a few unrelated guests
at Kiahuna who wished they’d come at a different time. With our family occupying ten units, we had our joyous—make that
noisy--moments. Each night a different
family cooked dinner for the mob, after which the athletes among us took over
the vast resort lawn for spectacular demonstrations of whirling Frisbees. With each throw, the orange disc whirled across the length of a
football field, captured gracefully by some male between five-eleven and six-three
. . . but occasionally landing in the hands of a child who hadn’t quite reached
four feet.
Like puppies, the kids kept leaping up
to intercept those flying discs.
On our last night, at a cost equal to
the down payment on a car, we signed up for a luau. Having seen more than my
share of such extravaganzas, I was ready to bypass this one. But thank heavens
I didn’t.
First thing I knew, the MC was probing
the crowd for birthdays. Rob, days short
of 90, didn’t volunteer. Instead, the great
grandkids—eight of them, ten and under—“volunteered” for him. Like a swarm of insects, they gathered behind Rob’s
head . . . giggling, pointing and shouting, “Here! Him!” Of course the MC noticed and Rob was
forced to trumpet out his age.
Only moments later, the man on stage
asked for longest marriages, and this time Rob cooperated. “Sixty-nine years!”
he shouted, (my math genius was “off” by
half a year), which brought us enthusiastic applause.
As if this weren’t enough, soon seven
of our eight youngsters were up on stage learning--or sort of learning--the
Hula . . . even Annalise, who is only two.
Budding show-offs that they were, none were shy about wiggling their
hips or spinning in circles. (Which excepts Annalise, who mostly stood and stared
out at the crowd.)
For the rest of the show, our young performers
gathered on a berm of land at one end of the stage and perched there like birds
on a wire.
But the excitement didn’t end. After
the show, numerous men came up to congratulate Rob on our extended marriage (as
if it was all because of him), and
even on the plane returning home, a passenger made a point of shaking Rob’s
hand.
This may be the one occasion when
neither of us minded that we’d already lived such a vast number of years.
