Ahh, the beautiful islands of Hawaii. Can’t you just feel the soft, warm blow of the trade winds as they rustle through the palm leaves? Imagine those serene beaches next to crystal clear lagoons. Don’t forget the weather. Although they forecast clouds overhead, weather watchers predict a perfect 74 degree high for this Monday on Oahu.
Paradise is a hard thing to leave, or so you would think. Especially when our current spring break in Kentuckiana could be used as a perfect ad as to why Florida is a wonderful vacation destination. I could take the flesh-eating dope addicts that state produces just for a bit of warm sun on my own vampire-white skin.
As I lay piled under my fluffy covers and sulk about the failure of the much-touted Snowmageddon to come into fruition, I wonder why the heck my family ever left our blissful, relaxed lives in Hawaii six years ago.
Yes, it’s a little-known fact that the Beam kids are Hawaiian. Any questions about the legitimacy of their future presidential runs may be sent to my email.
Of course, their hula dancing looks more like they’ve been assaulted with a Taser and their Hawaiian ancestry is about as existent at Manti Teo’s online girlfriend. But every last one of my brood was born in the Aloha state.
My husband’s job took us over to the island of Oahu for almost six years. Beautiful place, Hawaii. And the people welcomed us with more than just a flowery lei. We became ohana, their name for family. Our next-door neighbors, the Traders, invited us to every holiday. Their grandkids called us the traditional island terms of auntie and uncle. The keiki always celebrated Christmas outside under the golden Hawaiian sun.