Jeffrey Camara
I am the second of three boys to my dad and mom Helena Angeline Camara. As far back as I could remember, we were lived in a Quonset hut home on Campbell Avenue. Dad worked for Hawaiian Telephone Co. climbing the poles while driving the old ford Econoline van strapped with long ladders over the roof. Everyday after work he would unwind under the old mango tree in the backyard with some of the neighbors sipping Olympia beer, enjoying dried aku and playing music. By night's end we'd enjoy a simple meal and share a warm bathe in a large steel tub with four legs and one of those large round shower heads. Bedtime was always blessed as he read stories until I fell asleep. One weekend he drove me to Halawa Heights below Camp Smith and showed me the new location of our new home. Surrounded by red dirt, a concrete slab and lots of sugar cane, he showed me the plans with contractors discussing final designs. Before I knew it we moved in 1964. I had my own bedroom in a large 3 bedroom, two bath house. We planted a mango tree that would later be my treehouse. Dad worked many long hours overtime but always came home to a hot meal and storytime. Our stories of football ranged from chidhood and high school, college memories and faded dreams. Football was his passion. He loved Islander baseball, UH football, college football and professional football. He was overjoyed when the Hawaiians started in the WFL. Hot dogs, boiled peanuts and line up echoed every weekend. I loved it, the crowds and spending time learning the game while interrupting my dad's intense focus on the game. We enjoyed fishing at Sand Island even if never aught anything. I just knew we'd visit Tamashiro Market on the way home for fresh fish, poke and harassing the crabs. I was never a star athlete at any sports but dad came to watch and tell me "better luck next time". Every weekend we went to Uncle Eddie's house on Kamualii Street in Kalihi. The men played cards and relaxed over cold beer and barbecue. The women sipped wine and crochet. The kids ran throughout the neighbor-hood playing football, dodgeball, kickball and making shoyu mango. Dinner was potluck and music was provided by ukulele, guitar and hula. Grandma left by 9 or so which meant time to pau hana. Sleepover was a highlight to watch Tv, tell ghost stories and listen to music. My dad was not musical but enjoyed his old hawaiian favorite music. Dad always wanted the best education for us providing good private schools. Dad loved Saint Louis school, but none of us attended. Dad wanted me to join the military so I did. One night I wrote him a letter wondering why we grew up with hearing the words "I love you". He wrote back "just because we don't say it doesn't mean we don't feel it or mean in our actions". We made a promise to tell each other the words too. I say it again,and again although he's not physically here with me. Dad, I love you.