Growing up on an island of jewels

When you grow up on an island of jewels, how long does it take you to figure out that not everywhere is bejeweled also? Not only the literal jewels, and I'll get to that, but the jewels of people and culture, or rather, cultures.

Right now the only thing I'm on the windward side of is the city of San Jose, in California, on the mainland. The last time I visited Hawaii was 13 years ago as of this writing. Given what I'm told about the economy back home, I might be wise to never return.

But even given the high likelihood that I'll never see it again, I should write about the place because it's not all honus and hulas and loud shirts and mai-tais. Or mokes vs. military or anything simple. It's the most complicated place I've been and this is speaking as someone born and living California; a fairly complicated place in its own right.

Nor is it simple how I ended up growing up on Oahu. Some came because their parents were military, and some woke up there because their ancestors were whalers or missionaries, but I and my family ended up there because of my father, a extraordinary man. I've only realized what an unusual man he was after many years of seeing how dull and ordinary most people are, even people who match his high educational level on paper. I'm not saying there aren't interesting people on the mainland, but that I've never anyone who'd be a patch on my dad. I only wish he were still here to read this.

So it is partly out of wonder and partly out of duty that I write this. But first I have to get to the beginning...