When Hilo is rainy and overcast (which is often), the leeward side of the island is usually a good place to step out of the clouds and into the sun. For weeks, the entire island was smothered by a gloomy sort of rain that left everyone tinged with melancholy. In the past week or two, the sun has broken out across the green island, much to our relief. In the final days of winter break, we loaded up the car with clothing and snacks and toys for a road trip to the other side, for a little change of scenery.
Once in Kona, I drove the kids up a winding road, away from the beach, to our favorite park. There is a giant climbing structure there that resembles a massive castle, with vertical planks of dark wood and multiple tiers.
A herd of raucous boys tromped though the narrow passageways of the maze like-wooden castle structure. Their mischievous laughter grew distant as they disappeared in to the shadows of the lower levels. A sudden silence consumed them, denoting pending disaster. I peered around the side to see if they might be visible through the slats, just in time to see a tiny glimmering stream of yellow liquid, falling in a perfect arch from the structure to the ground below. Someone had wedged his penis between the wooden beams, mid-conversation, to relieve himself before casually resuming play. I couldn't tell who it was for sure, from where I stood. Next activity: hurling misplaced shoes up the slide at unsuspecting innocents on their way down the winding funnel of doom.
One or two tense parents bustled around in an attempt to retain some sense of order in what they evidently saw as madness. The other mothers and nannies (?) sat in the shade, mostly staring off into space or chatting amongst themselves.
"I've got a machete and I'll kill you!" one of the boys yelled.
I resisted the urge dive into this conversation with any lectures about how the kids should instead empower themselves through love and nonviolence. "Stop throwing the rocks at those girls! Stop slapping him in the face with that branch! Don't say you're going to kill him! Be gentle!" I wasn't going to be that mom today. I was just going to hang back and listen, and see how it all panned out.
There were maybe three girls among the approximate 20 kids at the park. The boys drifted in vicious clusters across the playground, growling, laughing and shouting. I realize that although, at first, my sons appeared to be the ring-leaders of mayhem, all of the boys were equally engaged in the epic pirate battle on the wooden canoe. Every verbal exchange echoed in snarls and roars through the park, sticks waving and rocks flying, pelting parents and children alike. It was likely there would be no last man standing, from the looks of things. The girls wandered in circles, silent and uncertain, wiping their stringy, tangled hair from their eyes again and again.
A man in his 50's was sitting in the middle of all this, seemingly unaffected by the Kukui nuts that were wizzing past, inches from his face. Tanned and tattooed with salt-and-pepper hair, he eyed me from behind his glasses, grinning. I pulled my hat over my eyes and nodded as I passed.
"I saw you on the monkey bars," he said, smiling wider. "I was impressed!"
"Oh, yeah. Well, sometimes the grown-ups like playing as much as the kids," I replied.
"Rrrrrrow!" he called back, like an old lion thing, which to me meant that our time at the park had come to an end. Though I found his response strange and unsettling, it didn't strike me as extremely perverse until I thought about it later.
Learning to survive surrounded by boys has become more of a study than a struggle, these days. I have become a curious observer, stepping out of myself long enough to consider these interactions in a scientific way. Rather than feeling that I need to have any response, necessarily, I find myself wondering, "What would happen if I didn't say anything?" The fly on the wall has made some interesting discoveries.
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