Aloha Friday: The Story of Keli'i

In November 2004, we went to Kaua'i to celebrate Thanksgiving. Adam was barely seven-months-old at the time and this was his first plane ride and his first visit to Hawai'i.

Besides being a wondeful vacation, that trip holds wonderful memories and meaning. We spent the days doing what you do in Hawai'i: snorkel, visit the beach, admire the waterfalls, and swim in the pool. Adam wasn't too keen of the ocean. The fish swimming around our legs weren't exactly his cup of tea. He loved the sand though. And he looked so cute in his little aloha shirts.

He was just learning to walk on that trip. I know, seven-months-old and walking. He'd walk laps around the coffee table in our condo and waddle along the rattan sofa. And he had the most adorable t-shirt and shorts pajama set. I think I even saved it.

Since we were there over Thanksgiving, we spent one day watching the Christmas parade where Santa rides into Hawai'i. Of course, I cried. I mean are you surprised? It was a Christmas parade in Hawai'i? Hello? Total tear-jerker.

And Adam "met" Santa for the first time on that trip. I'll tell you what, I'm pretty sure that man WAS the REAL Santa. He was about 5'6" with a belly full of jelly and a real, fluffy white beard. And he was so jovial and kind. When we walked up to the photo area, he came over and said, "OK, here's how we're going to do this. I'm going to sit down. You're going to place him in my arms and back away. You're not going to say a thing. Just keep looking at him and she'll snap his picture before he even realizes I'm holding him. There won't be any tears or anything."

And what do you know? We followed his instructions and captured the most adorable first Santa picture in the world. I think one of us commented on this and he laughed (yes his belly shook) and said, "I've done it a million times." And somehow that didn't seem like an exaggeration.
(when I dig out Adam's memory box, I will post the picture)

But, Santa wasn't the only important person Adam met on that trip. There was also Mr. Figueroa. (I'm going to try not to cry while I type this)

We'd gone to a little greasy-spoon diner in Kapa'a for breakfast with my parents and I had the most delicious macadamia nut pancakes in the world. At the table behind us was a couple of middle-aged Hawaiian men having coffee. Adam was particularly jovial and charismatic that morning. (that means he was more interested in entertaining everyone than he was in eating) And for whatever reason he and the men behind him really hit it off.

Towards the end of our meal, the man wearing a dingy blue baseball cap introduced himself as Mr. Figueroa. Adam sat in his lap and we visited with this nice man for a little while. He shared bits and pieces of his life on Hawai'i and talked story with my dad.

Then he gave Adam back to us and said, "I'm going to tell you your Hawaiian name, Adam. You are called Keli'i."

I must have said something like "I thought his name was Atamu" because Mr. Figueroa smiled and said, "Keli'i means little chief. And that's what you are."

Scott, my parents and I all laughed when he said this. In just a few minutes, he'd figured out our little man. Our little chief.

Scott said to him, "Wow, you know him well!" And Mr. Figueroa just smiled and nodded.

Mahalo nui loa Mr. Figueroa for the memory. Adam is Keli'i of our hearts.

Freedom! Freedom!

Adam is eight and for the most part a normal boy. He loves legos, video games and baseball. He likes to build things, play in the dirt and go swimming. He's smart, relatively athletic and wildly funny. Yep, pretty typical.

Except that, until last Saturday, he didn't ride a bike. It's not that he didn't know how; he rides his green machine (big wheel) like a mad man. He just didn't want to ride a real, two-wheel bike.

Now, I'm an intense, Type A, milestone-checking-off kind of mom. And it has driven me absolutely insane that the boy refused to ride a bike. I tried everything I could think of to get him to ride: bribery, force, even mild and well-meaning ridicule. But still, he refused.

For his sixth birthday, we gave him a really cool black bike and matching helmet. He rode it with and without training wheels a couple times each then gave up after one fall. For his fifth birthday, we bought one of those tandem bikes. You know the kid-sized bike that you attach to the rear wheel of the adult-sized bike. He rode it once, crying and screaming the entire time. For his third birthday, we gave him one of those SmartCycle video games thinking he'd learn how to peddle and want to make the switch. For his second birthday, we gave him a big wheel. But still he wouldn't ride. When he bought the green machine at a rummage sale last year, I thought, "Okay, now he's going to ride a bike." Ya, I was wrong.

I talked about it with other mom friends, brainstorming about how I could get him to ride a bike. He didn't even want to talk about bike-riding much less do it. But I resolved this was one battle I would win.

So last Saturday, after breakfast, I announced we were getting the bikes out of storage and going for a ride. All of us including Grammy and Pops. Adam immediately freaks out.

Crying, whimpering, he blubbered "I can't ride a bike. I'm never going to ride a bike."

"That's fine, I didn't invite you on the bike ride," I said.

"I'm never going to ride a bike. Do you want me to die? I'll kill myself riding a bike," he persisted.

"It's okay, Adam. You weren't invited. You can stay home by yourself," I said calmly.

"Okay," he said, relieved.

"No, I mean, we all are going for a bike ride except you. So you can sit outside the locked house and wait for us," I corrected.

"Okaaaayyy," he whined.

About ten minutes later...

"Mom, I want to try and ride my bike. Will you invite me on the bike ride?"
"Sure Adam, no problem," I replied secretly smiling but knowing this battle was long from over. I envisioned getting the bike out, pleading with him to try it, begging him to stop crying. Then I would acquiesce and ask Scott to put training wheels back on the bike. The crying, pleading and begging would resume. Most of the day would be spent this way, interrupted by short rides on the bike with me running alongside like the mom in the Hallmark commercials. I was suddenly wishing I'd never opened my stupid mouth.

So, we got down the bikes. Adam looked at his bike and then at me and said, "I think I'll give it a try."

"Okay," I said trying to hide my skepticism. We were in my parents' motorhome garage. He'd only have a small area of flat smooth ground before having to pedal uphill and then onto a gravel road. Plus the seat was two years too low for him and the tires were flat. I had very, very little faith that this would be successful.

He threw a leg over, put his feet on the pedals and rode away. Yes, he rode away. On flat tires. Uphill. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I just stood there dumb-founded.

"I'm doing it!  I'm riding a bike!" His glee-filled cheers woke me from my stupor.

Scott and my parents were not witnessing the miracle with me.

"Did he really just get on and start riding?" one of them asked me. (I don't remember who, I was still in shock.)

"Yes, yes he did."

And so he spent the rest of the day riding his bike all over our yard, all over the neighborhood. And when he'd stop for a rest, he'd say (again and again) "I feel so free. It's like a burden is gone." He was even heard yelling, "Freeeeeeeeeeeeeeedom!"

That's when it occurred to me that riding a bike without training wheels is like the first time we let go of our worries and let God take over. It's like just trusting Him with everything and feeling so incredibly free, like the world has finally opened itself to us. That's some amazing freedom.

Oh, and on a side note, shortly after Adam discovered he could, actually, ride a bike, Gracey decided she needed to ride a bike too. Of course she did.