Sweet Candy Days

My dad, my sister, Lola, and me enjoying a day at the beach. Photo: Lopez collection

The 1950s and early 1960s were a great time to grow up in Hawai’i. I lived in Honolulu, and the days of my youth were spent on the beach at Waikiki. My parents loved the ocean, and this love rubbed off on me and my older sister, Lola, and younger brother, Victor. We passed many afternoons on weekdays and full days on weekends and holidays at Queens Surf, our favorite beach.

From Queen Kapi’olani Park looking seaward, a surf break known as the Wall was just to the right, further on were the famous Waikiki surf breaks of Queens and Canoes. Just across the street was the Honolulu Zoo, which we also visited regularly. My brother, sister, and I were familiar with all the animal exhibits and every tree to climb, especially the sprawling banyan tree at the entrance. To the left was the War Memorial Natatorium, a seawater pool built in the 1920s to honor Hawaiian soldiers lost in World War I.

Eventually the Waikiki Aquarium was constructed next to the Natatorium. Like the zoo, there was no price of admission. We walked in free as the breeze. I loved all the exhibits and came to know every single fish on display there. Not long after that, an outdoor amphitheater called the Waikiki Shell was put up in the park next to the zoo. The entire area was our playground, but we passed most of our time in the ocean and on the beach.

The water and air temperature of Waikiki Beach are the most pleasant and refreshing of any beach I’ve ever visited the world over. For Hawai’i old-timers Waikiki is simply ‘The Beach,’ as if there is no other.

As kids, we could spend hours and hours frolicking in the surge that washed upon the golden sand. I remember the water being clear and the sand sparkling clean. We would dig big holes for our father to lie in and cover him back up. We thought if we piled enough sand on top, he wouldn’t be able to get out. But every time, with a strength that always amazed us, no matter how much sand was heaped on, he would flex his big hands first, then lift his knees and emerge from the mound. Soon the wave action would smooth over any digging, and the beach would be returned to its normal smooth surface.

Late in the day, after all the swimming and playing, my father would fire up the hibachi and Mom would cook something for dinner. We would eat as the sun set over ‘Ewa Beach to our west, lighting up the whole sky in brilliant red, orange, and gold colors. Tired, sunburned, and sleepy, we would pack up and head home, our day of fun at the beach complete. The next day we would return, none of us ever bored by this natural playground and place of peace and joy. The beach was our second home.

My brother Victor and me at Queens Surf, not long before we pestered Mom into taking us surfing for the first time. Photo: Lopez collection

On occasion, when the surf was up, a small wave would break alongside the rock jetty. My father showed us how to bodysurf the wave. We could ride right up onto the sand. It was very tame, but the gentle waves had enough energy to carry a small boy’s body in their surge.

This was our first experience with riding the surf. Sometimes we would walk down to the Wall and watch the paipo boarders and bodysurfers ride the more serious surf there. From above, they looked like sea creatures as they shot the curl of the waves. Each rider seemed to be a part of his wave. Directly out in front of our swimming beach was an expert surf break named Public Baths, where the better surfers would ride on their long surfboards. When the waves were just right, they would glide on the face of the waves for very long distances. I would sit on the end of the stone jetty and watch them swoop across the walls of water. At some point it must have entered my mind that I wanted to try it.

I pestered my mother and father to go surfboarding but neither had any experience at it. My father had tried it once years before. He rented a solid wood board but somehow managed to drop it on his toe before he ever got in the water. The eighty-pound board smashed his toe and ended his surf session in one bloody squish.

My mother and her younger sister, my auntie Betty (Michiko), were teachers at kaimuki High School and had some students who were not only accomplished surfers but also ran a surfboard rental concession. Probably in exchange for some relief from homework, they off ered to lend their teachers the surfboards.

Mom gave us the good news, and we could hardly go to sleep that night thinking about the next day. I was ten years old and Victor was eight. Mom’s students had their concession set up on the beach in front of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. We got to pick from a whole rack of surfboards that the beach boys made good money on renting to tourists. I chose a bright red one and my brother took a blue one. Holding the noses, we dragged the boards down to the water’s edge and waited there for my mother. We were tiny and the boards seemed huge. Mom swam out next to us in the warm water while we paddled the boards. Later, I would learn that we were at a spot called Baby Queens, an inside break perfect for beginners.

We learned how to turn the big boards around so they pointed toward shore. A wave came and my mother told me to get ready. She pushed the tail and the next thing I knew, I was gliding along on a wave. I didn’t have to do a thing; the wave did all the work. I remember the sound was a slight hiss as the board cut through the water and the breaking wave made a crackling sound. I was overwhelmed with a sensation that took my breath away. It seemed like I was as free as a bird in flight. I had never felt anything so good before, and the corners of my mouth curled up into a big smile. I was sailing along at a good clip, as fast as on a bicycle going down a steep hill. Soon the wave petered out and the board slowed down. I wanted to do it again. As I turned the board around, I saw my brother coming in on the next wave. He had a big smile too.

When I paddled the board out to where my mother waited, she asked how it went. When I told her I wanted to keep doing it, she smiled and suggested that maybe I should try to stand up the next time. The next wave came, she gave a shove, and I felt it again. I was gliding, as free as a bird. I carefully got to my knees and the sensation of speed seemed to increase. Gradually I pushed myself up until I could let go with my hands and stand on my feet. This was like riding a bike with no hands, only a lot faster and without any effort. The wave did everything. I knew then that this was the best thing I had ever done.

It’s incredible that after almost fifty years of surfing, I can still remember those first few waves like they were yesterday. What’s even more amazing is that riding them is still the only thing I want to do: keep surfing.