Hawaiian Supermom

I’m a paddler. I love to race outrigger canoes, love the feeling of being in a boat, love the camaraderie of being part of a team of physically and mentally strong women, AND love being part of a club.

So what does this have to do with what I’m going to tell you?

Nothing. Just felt like putting it out there.

But here’s a story:

Three years ago my family decided to get into the sport when we came across the canoe halau (long house) at Ala Moana Beach Park. Now Ala Moana is a nice place to take the kids to swim and a good place for exercise, but like everything, it has it’s fair share of ‘problems.’ One of them, sadly, is the number of homeless people who set up camps around the park.

I am not going to go on a rant or a tirade about homeless people, because I do have a heart. For years my husband and I have spent our own money to buy homeless people along the Waianae Coast the ‘essentials’: cases of water, canned goods, toiletries, sleeping bags and what have you, and we’ve cooked food for homeless people who looked hungry while we were spending time at the beach with our friends and family, not for a charitable organization, not to get a tax break, just because it feels like the right thing to do.

Some people have been quick to judge and say that we shouldn’t be doing that, that we’re only making things worse because now they’re going to start harassing others like stray animals but really, I think that’s such a sad way to think about other humans.

Granted, people want to feel safe and there are times that I honestly do not feel safe– like when some random man gets up and starts a fist fighting trash talking war with an imaginary being; but there are also times that I am reminded of how scary and sad it must be to be in their position.

While waiting for paddling to start one day, my girls and I walked to the restroom and came across this message neatly written across the door to the bathroom stall. Knowing it would be erased by staffers (as it’s just not a good look for tourists to see when visiting the islands,) I took a picture of it:

I left the stall looking for the woman who wrote this, wanting to give her a hug, to tell her everything was going to be alright, to send her towards an agency or someone who could help her find her way again but she was nowhere to be seen.

I still wonder about her.

So why am I writing about this, after all these years? Because my husband showed me this video:

It’s worth watching…