Tag Archives for Mentoring

Gone Missing


You have gone, but I keep looking
keep delving into the great mystery
the meaning of this journey called life.

I go back to where we met, where we talked,
where you did your magic with your son,
urging him forward, teaching him love,
being all of the father he needed,
all the father for us all,
prisoners, mentors, yet all of us
becoming loved, becoming family,
feeling your hugs reach into our hearts.

You, not here now, but then again,
yes, you are, still here, beside me
inside the walls we have built—
your presence, your passion,
your simple message:
showing up,
loving without strings attached—
nothing more really needed.
You, teaching me, again and again,
just love, just be the human being.

Week after week, all of us watching you open your heart
pouring love into that son’s soul,
taking his hand and walking with him
into his manhood,
to be all that he can be,
changing each of us as we watched.

You, in your wisdom,
you, eroding the rock around his soul,
revealing his own diamonds,
one drop of love
at a time.

It is not the passing on, the tears, I ponder,
but your burning flame lighting up my life
the bear hugs, the laugh,
the handshake that gripped my heart,
the words urging all of us to think
of the possibilities.

—Neal Lemery 12/19/2013
in memory of Ken Edens (1953-2013)

Struggling with Suicide and Grief and Everything Else


I don’t know what to say, or even think. A friend of mine has gone, at a time and place and manner of his own choosing. He left, not saying good bye, not asking for help with his pain, his choices. But, then again, maybe he did, and we did not listen, or did not respond to what he asked. At least, I did not hear him asking for a hand, or my ear, or even considering other choices. Or, maybe I did. And now, I do not know. I am, at the least, confused and lost, and stumbling around in my grief, my impotence.

Now, there is an emptiness, and a great unknowing. The “what ifs” keep multiplying, and I am left with wonder, with sadness, and guilt. “What if?” “What if?”

And, in the silence that follows my asking, there are no answers, only more questions.

Friends of mine, closer to him that I was, are left empty, unknowing, wandering in the wilderness of uncertainty, of deeper questions which have no answers today. My pain today is enough; I cannot imagine theirs.

I search for answers that are not there. I search for so much, for reasons, for explanations, for understandings, knowing that there is now only a cold wind blowing around my heart.

Raw craziness, that is what is running amuck in my life now. No answers, just more questions. Not much solace, yet knowing that my friend was, at least for a second, at peace with himself and what he was doing.
I was not on his road of life, and I did not know his journey. In his departing, there is even more uncertainty in my mind as to what I might have known, might have done, might have loved him deeper, had he shared his pain, his questions, his journey. But, he did not, and somehow I must accept that. Yet, in that, I find myself angry, and unknowing, and uncertain. I am confused, and enraged, yet what has been done was beyond what I could have done, and beyond what I am, and what I could have been to him.

Old pains, and other suicides, and those still unanswered questions come back now, again reminding me of old wounds, unresolved enigmas, old doubts and tears. I do not know. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know. Old stuff, reopened, bleeding again, making new tears.

Part of me wants answers, but I know that answers won’t ever come. I move on, in life, yet I am left with wonderment, and enigma, and cold winds, ice in my heart that comes at unforeseen, strange times, dragging me back to old ghosts and old, unresolved times.

The poet writes of what I feel, and points me towards forgiveness. Yet, that word seems foreign to where I sit now, empty and alone, not knowing, not finding sanity in all of this. The poet’s wisdom circles about me, aflame, trying to warm my cold, lonely heart.

Perhaps, I should reach out, and accept that warmth, on this cold winter’s night.

Forgiveness
By Marion Waterston, January 31, 2005
 
I guess I’ll never know
All I want to know
Or understand
What can’t be understood
But I believe it’s time to forgive
 
Time to forgive you for leaving me
So abruptly and so painfully
And time to forgive myself
For talks we didn’t have
Laughs we didn’t share
Songs we didn’t sing
Foolishly I thought that time was on our side
 
Can it be that time now wishes to atone for this betrayal
For tears no longer flow like endless rivers
Anger seems a wasted emotion
And dreams those dreaded night-time visitors
Can come as friends
 
Once again I smile at the innocence of children
The unabashed warmth of lovers
The enthusiastic affection of dogs
And although I do not see you my precious love
You are with me
 
So I guess I’ll never know
All I want to know
Or understand
What can’t be understood
But here in this quiet moment
It’s time and I’m ready
To forgive.

Being Thankful


“Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds.”  ~Theodore Roosevelt

Yes, the Thanksgiving dinner table will “groan” with an abundance of food, and a delightful gathering of family and friends, and rich conversation will mark the feast. We will pause to hear each of us express what we are thankful for in the past year, one of our favorite traditions.

And, in that telling of thanks, there will be a few tears, and a few laughs, and my heart will be filled with gratitude of what I have in my life. People new to our Thanksgiving table will remark about the goodness of speaking about what we are thankful for, and sharing that with others.

Yet, I try to express my thanks in more than words. As Theodore Roosevelt said, truly giving thanks is putting our gratitude into action, into our deeds.

This week, I sat with two of my young men in prison, each of them at a crossroads in their lives, each of them struggling to move ahead, to grow, and to steady themselves on their paths. Their particular challenges were different, but each of them steeled themselves, dug deep inside of their souls, drawing on their resilience and their growing self esteem, and moved ahead.

I marveled at their strength, and at their insight into their challenges and dilemmas. In the short time I’ve been privileged to be in their lives, I have seen them grow into healthy, strong men, gaining confidence and perspective on how far they’ve come, and what potentials they have to make it in the world.

I found myself giving thanks for the privilege of simply being present, as they worked on their problems, seeking solutions, weighing alternatives, and doing the gut work they each needed to do in order to move on. What each of them were working on, and what each of them accomplished was bloody, gut wrenching, soul challenging work.

There was old ugliness and pain, stuff all of us would probably want to find easier to ignore, and keep buried deep inside. Yet, they plunged in, dealing with the ugly past, the old patterns of thinking, and simply did the work. They tried out their new tools, and embraced the light they want to have in their lives, leaving behind the dark, sad past.

Their challenges, and their deep, thoughtful, soul changing work, brought tears to my eyes. Their stories of their childhoods, and their heart wounds, and search for love and acceptance in this world, tore at my heart. Yet, they accepted who they had been, and embraced who they are becoming. They are moving forward, with courage and with love for themselves, at last.

Being a witness, and a cheerleader at times, I was humbled by their perseverance, their determination to move forward. They faced change, and moved on. They faced uncertainty, and complex choices, yet each of them knew where he wanted to go, and what they wanted to accomplish for themselves.

I learn from them all of the time. They inspire me, they mentor me, in how to live a healthy, productive life. They teach me that one’s past is not necessarily the predictor of one’s future, that one can change and move away from disaster and bitterness, and into a life of sanity and unconditional love.

Outside the prison walls, our society faces challenging problems, and dilemmas that seem to defy solutions. And, soon enough, these young men will be leaving prison, and living their lives as free men. I am excited that they will soon be free, and will soon take an active part in our country’s life and culture. They are strong, capable, and determined men, men with brains and a healthy way of looking at life, and who they want to be. They will be rich, productive assets for the rest of us. They have much to teach each one of us.

I am thankful for them, for being able to be a small part of their lives, and, in a small way, help them move on and be strong, loving, and amazing young men.

—-Neal Lemery, 11/27/2013

First Cup


First morning cup, brewing before dawn,
the son packing up his bag, ready to go
back to his Sunday job, to school—
more tests this week, only a month left
his first term in a real college.

His face lights up, his words all about campus
and classes, and the brainy discussions and lessons—
him fitting in, getting into his groove, finding his way,
living his dream we talked about so often.

Finding his path, in so many ways, now
footsteps steady on university sidewalks,
exploring the library, coffee with new found friends,
conversations rich with ideas and challenges.

We talk, me reaching to offer a tidbit of advice, of support
before he gets back at it, this new life of his,
me, wanting to be fatherly, yet not wanting to push,
me, proud of his sure steps, his confidence, all of his success.

Him, now fully a man, both feet firm on his chosen path,
him, moving forward, not knowing where he will travel
yet, happy with the idea of his journey, his idea
of who he is, and who he is becoming, at last.

Dad work now nearly done, this son has found himself,
his wings strong, finding the updrafts,
soaring, towards the sun
of his newfound happiness.

First cup now drained, he fills his car mug with his second,
heading towards the door, and turns back
hugging, one last time, and then
he is gone, down the road, moving on with his life.

The house, quiet now, without his voice, without
him playing the guitar, his singing in the shower,
his eyes twinkling as he speaks of his new life,
he goes down the road, leaving me with
a second cup and wet face.

Neal Lemery 11/10/2013

Living In the Midst of Courage


I live in the midst of courageous people. Oh, I laugh at the funny things about my little home town, the log trucks and milk trucks rumbling through downtown, taking up a lane and a half, the cow manure fountains spurting their stink, attracting seagulls and puzzling some of the tourists.

“What’s that green fountain in the field?” they ask, until they get too close.

Our high school teams are the Cheesemakers, and our big tourist attraction is the cheese factory, where people line up for ice cream cones, and carry out big bags of “squeaky cheese”, what my grandmother used to call cheese curds, and fed them to the hogs. At $5 a bag, I bet today she wouldn’t be thinking hog food.

Our biggest celebration is the June Dairy Month Parade, led by our dairy princesses, and finished up with big hay trucks and the town’s biggest fire truck. At the county fair, the most popular events are the “Pig ‘N Ford” races (Model Ts and greased pigs), and the Saturday night demolition derby.

Yet, serious things go on here, people taking on serious, tough issues and moving ahead in their lives.

This week, the local paper features the lives of young women, rebuilding their troubled, addicted lives in a women’s rehabilitation house, finding a healthy routine, and real normalcy. The paper printed their pictures and their names, at the top of the front page, along with their stories of drugs, violence, child neglect, and jail. They are stepping forward, claiming their sobriety and their changes, and proud of their journey.

A mentally troubled lady buttonholes me in the library, venting her political views, and urging me to gather food for the coming apocalypse.. The librarian and I later compare notes, on how we both look after her, in our own ways, knowing that the resources for helping the mentally ill are stretched thin, and the best thing we can do is keep an eye out, and sometimes offer a kind ear for the demons in her head.

I chat with a contractor outside of a cafe. He’s up to speed on how our jails are our mental health clinics, that most folks in jail are addicts, and that this country has the highest per capita rate of prisoners. And, how that doesn’t work. He tells me how he hires guys getting out of jail, knowing that they need the work, and more than a little guidance and fathering from him. He says he’s changed some lives, and that he makes a difference.

“I take a chance on people, but folks need a break, a chance to be successful,” he grins. “Been there, myself, you know.”

A young man here in prison talks to me about his release in a few months, how he’s going to move back to his small town, back to where people know him for his crime and probably aren’t in a forgiving mood. He takes a deep breath and calls his journey “stepping out” into his future. He’s not looking back, and will find new friends, and negotiate a new way of living with his family.

He talks frankly with me about his sexual crime, and how that affected the victim. And, he talks about how he was abused, and beaten and how he was going down the dark road when he was a teen. Prison changed him, he says, and the treatment there was the best thing he’s doing for himself and for his future.

A grocery clerk takes a break outside, looking up at the sky. Her daughter’s back in jail—drugs, again. It’s a tough cycle, and there’s a tear in her eye that slides down her cheek, as she thinks about her daughter, and the granddaughter now back in her care, and what lies ahead. Yet, she’s here, working, and taking it on, again.

Courage. Courage to move ahead, the past be damned.

The local AA groups proudly fix up their meeting house, putting up a sign announcing their presence, and their mission in this town, where the bars nearly outnumber the churches.

“We are here, and we are working our plan, one step at a time.” Not that long ago, there was a whole lot of shame and denial in addiction and recovery, and the biggest voice about it was just a whisper. Now, that work is something people are proud of, even letting the local paper put their names and pictures on the front page, talking about their recovery, and the work they’re doing to stay clean and sober.

We can talk about domestic violence now, too. The local group that offers counseling, shelter, and a lot of support is out in the community, accepted as an important service and a vital presence in our lives.

Not that we are putting an end to domestic violence. It still rears its ugly head in so many ways. But, a lot of discussion goes on about domestic violence now, and we aren’t so afraid to talk about it, and the impact it has on people’s lives, and how complicated it is to help someone who is dealing with it in their lives. There’s some turning points, and people’s thinking is changing. And, people who are dealing with it are being admired, admired for being courageous.

I take an evening class at the community college, During my break, I saw a woman writing on a tablet in the student commons. She writes slowly, thoughtfully, her pen poised above the paper, as she carefully chooses her words. She opens a book, a text on communications, and reads a paragraph, her brow furrowed in concentration, and picks up her pen, and starts to write again. She’s still wearing her uniform from work, and her face tells me it’s been a long day. But she’s here, working away, making progress in her life, getting an education.

My teacher is working hard, too, spending time with each of his students, making sure everyone is challenged, and everyone is learning something useful, something to make them better guitar players, better musicians, and, most of all, better people.

He’s building a house, from the ground up, learning as he goes. Today, he put in a window, something he’s never done before. Not that that would stop him. He loves a challenge, he loves building his future, one board, one sheet of plywood, one window at a time.

At night, the college parking lot is full. Every classroom is busy, people listening, talking, working hard on learning, on moving ahead in their lives.

People moving ahead, working on what needs to be taken care of, people living their courage.

Neal Lemery 10/30/2013

Lost and Found


I can be so lost and alone, in a crowd of people.

I plug into my electronic devices, suddenly accessing the immediacy of “news”, social commentary, so many thoughts of others. Yet, I can be, at the same time, in a dark cave of despair, my isolation and sense of unworthiness becoming the ghosts in the dark.

Friends are searching for their own meaning in life, their purpose, their place in this hectic, yes frantic world of immediate deadlines and obligations.

We heed the call of the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, “hurry, hurry.”

But, we can be lost, easily pushed to the side of the freeway, as the world goes rushing on by.

What we have sensed that we have lost is being connected with each other. We used to tell stories around the fire at night, and during the day, work together, laughing and singing, always connected. We shared the good and the bad.

We were close to the land, and the stars, the birds, and, through our hands, we were connected to the earth. Our work was something we could see, touch, hold onto.

How we lived our day impacted our village. If we didn’t hunt, or plant, or work together, we did not eat. We truly connected with each other, and with the universe. Spirituality was not abstract, it was real. And, we had accountability around the fire at night, and around the shared meal.

Social media is popular, as we are back around the fire, telling stories, catching up, sharing our lives. It has its drawbacks, and we can easily be alone in a crowd, ignoring the person next to us. But, social media life is a form of village life, of community.

Today, friends write about the power of Alcoholics Anonymous, the Friends of Bill W. Why does that message, that simple act of gathering together and sharing, why does that work for so many people? Why does that change lives?

AA works because it is communal, it brings spirituality to the forefront of our lives, it has a belief that our spirituality and our uniqueness as a person is truly valuable, and we benefit from the spiritual energy of others.

All religions, all prophets have the core message: be connected, love one another, find peace and meaning in being in communion with each other and with the universe. Avoid separateness, don’t be alone. We are all one brotherhood and sisterhood. The person next to us matters to us, simple because they are our brother, our sister.

Yesterday, I reconnected. The sun was out, it was a perfect day, almost hot, and still, with the colors of Autumn around me. I had plants to plant in my yard, and it felt good to my soul to push a shovel into the rich, dark soil, and make a new home for shrubs, trees, and daffodils.

In sixty or seventy years, the trees I planted will reach their prime, and will send their seeds throughout the valley, and stand tall and proud, objects of beauty for those who come after me. I will be long gone, but what my feet, back and hands did for those trees yesterday will be remembered by the trees, on the day they moved here and took up residence.

It felt good to feel the dirt under my feet, and between my fingers. I held the plants, and their roots, tenderly settling them into the ground, settling the dirt next to their roots, and watering them in. One tree needed staking, to hold it up in the coming winter storms. Yet, all too soon, it will be growing tall and sturdy, its roots firmly reaching downward, connecting with and becoming part of this land.

Being the tree planter connected me with the earth, and with the universe. I am part of this place, as is the tree, and the hawk that circled above me, and the wind that blew in off the ocean, bringing the smell of last night’s rain.

Today, I am far away, meeting one of my buddies, making more connections with him, as he is planting his own trees, and setting down his own roots. He, too, will grow straight and tall, his soul firmly planted in good soil, taking in the water and sunlight of knowledge and stability, making his life rich and productive.

I’ve been teaching him about tree planting, and farming his soul. He’s a good student, and what I’ve been saying about what we do in the village, how we are part of our tribe, is stuff he’s taken into his heart.

“What are you doing today?” people ask.

Making connections, planting trees, tending my soul, taking care of the brothers and sisters in this world. That’s what I’m doing.

10/7/2013

Giving Back


“Why are you still volunteering and helping out those kids? You’re retired now, and, they aren’t your kids. They shouldn’t be your worry.”

Someone asked me that the other day, their words strong, edgy with bitterness. They were wondering why I was helping others out in the community, giving of my time, helping other make something of their life. It wasn’t my job, right?

I was taken aback. After all, being involved in my community is something I’ve always done.

As a kid, I’d help with chores, or run an errand or mow the neighbor’s lawn when they were gone, or feed their pets. I’d help out on my grandparents’ farm, and get involved in some project. At dinner, there’d sometimes be an extra kid, and a little more love flying around the kitchen table. When there was a need, you just did what was needed. No questions asked.

That idea of helping in the community has always just been part of my life. It never occurred to me to me to wonder why, or think that being helpful wasn’t just part of living in a small town, or even the world.

Other people helped me, without me asking, too. It is just what we do. When I was a kid, a lot of people gave me the support I needed to apply myself, set goals, and work hard. And, when it is my turn to be the cheerleader, that voice of encouragement, I speak up, and I take action.

This summer, I’ve spent some time helping a young man focus on getting ready to start his junior year at a university. He’s worked hard the last few years, taking on line classes, and doing well, making time to study and write his papers in between all the other demands of his busy life.

Now, he’s able to actually be on campus, sit in a class and be involved in college life. He’s making that transition from the technology and isolation of a computer, to the excitement and interaction of a busy university campus. And, I’ve made the time to be supportive, to sit down with him and his advisors, watch him plan his schedule, and attend to the countless details that are needed to be a successful college student. It’s tough doing that on your own, and when you’re the first one in your family going to college, it’s also lonely and scary.

He’s not my kid, but then, again, he is, an important part of my family. He’s lived in my village, he’s part of my community, and his brains and ambition are part of the real treasure we have in our young people. He’s everyone’s kid. When he gets smarter, the village gets smarter, and we all benefit.

He’s already a leader and a problem solver. He’s got the ambition and moxie to move ahead in his life, and to realize his dreams. I want that energy building our village, and our country. I want that kind of problem solving and leadership out in the world, taking on the tough problems, and thinking outside of the box.

The little I do, some words of encouragement, a trip to the campus, a visit to the bookstore, and a steady hand on his shoulder when the path gets a little rocky, is about the best investment I can make in the future. And, not just his future. His future successes and smart ideas, and focused leadership is also going to improve my life, and make my village a better place to live.

I’ve received, and I’ve given back. I’ve come full circle in the helping one’s neighbor view of the world. I’ve seen the planting, and the harvest, season after season. That kind of farm work, the raising up of others to achieve their dreams, and to reach for the stars, is what we are here for.

And, in the end of all that care and compassion for our fellow humankind, we might even end up with a better world for everyone.

Neal Lemery, 10/1/2013

Possibility in the Air


 

 

It was Book Day.  I found myself in a college book store, with a young man I’ve been helping a bit, getting him started in college, helping him move along a bit in his life, starting something he’s been dreaming about, something that’s scary, too.

 

The unknown ahead is always a bit scary.  Something new, untried, unfamiliar.  Even if stepping ahead, out of one’s comfort zone, is a good thing, part of me wants to hold back, be cautious and safe.  There is a bit of doubt, “I am not good enough for that.”

 

Book Day breaks me out of that old cycle, that rut of thinking that I can’t move forward.  It is a day overcome with newness, of learning, of growing, getting out of my rut.

 

I wandered around the aisles, looking at shelves bulging with textbooks on every subject in the college catalog.  I have to be careful, or I’d be buying a few for myself.  I always find something in a bookstore that I’d like to read, especially if I don’t get graded on what I read.  But, I could slip in after the bell, find a seat in the back row, and get myself lost in the lecture, taking notes, feeling the juices in my brain flowing with excitement, all the new ideas.

 

The student was having fun, too, finding his books, filling up his basket with what he was going to be studying this term, enjoying that thrill of a new adventure, new challenges.  I caught him humming a happy tune, as he was perusing a book.  The sparkle in his eyes told me his story today.  He was moving ahead, living his dream.

 

The best part of book day is that sense of adventure, and discovery.  All the newness of the day:  classes, professors, students, books, and, especially, new ideas.  So many doors to be opened, so much opportunity.

 

Today, there are no limits, no restrictions on what may lie ahead.

 

Possibility fills the air, and I breathe it in deeply.

 

Neal Lemery 9/8/2013

Kana Hanai


In the Hawaiian language, kana hanai is loosely translated as “my adopted child or children, my foster child”. In Hawaiian culture, the word “hanai” (Hah NIE) has a deeper, more complex meaning.

It is the taking in of a youth, who needs some parenting, some nurturance and love that is different than the love and nurturance of biological parents. The hanai child becomes part of the family, not only physically, but emotionally. That child is treated as one of the family’s children, loved and nurtured, and cared for as one of their own. You become an “extra” parent, the additional aunt or uncle. There’s a lot of aloha, of unconditional, unlimited love and concern.

When I was growing up, hanai children could be found occasionally at our dinner table, or spending a month in the summer. My mother spoke lovingly of her aunt, and her ninth year of life, living with her aunt, and seeing the world in a different way, soaking up her aunt and uncle’s love and concern. That year got my mom through some tough times, and gave her new strength, and a new lease on childhood.

In our house, there was always an extra chair, and room at the table for another face, and, if we had dessert, we all shared. None of us kids dared to complain. Having another kid at the table was nothing new, and mom would always be a little happier than usual as she was cooking dinner. Conversation around the table was always lively, and included them, making them feel welcome, a part of family.

My wife and I carried on that tradition after we got married, and took it farther. We lived in town and my stepson’s friends were usually in the yard, or playing music in the house. When it was dinner time, we set the table with another plate or two, and shared our food, and conversation. There was always laughter, and some good stories.

And, sometimes, when we would plan a family outing, a picnic or a hike, that other kid who seemed to be in the house a lot usually came along.

A few years after my stepson went off to college, my wife came home from school one day with a sad story, telling me about one of her students who needed a place to live.

Another son, she said, a hanai child, needing to be coming home.

The spare bedroom became his room, and I found an old dresser for $10, and sanded it down, and put on a couple of coats of paint. Our dinner table was now set for three, and we had teenage music and laughter and mood swings in our house again. We had a front row seat in watching this newest man child grow up and find his passions.

And, soon, his friends would come by, and manage to stay for dinner, and breakfast in the morning. When they were busy having fun downstairs, and watching a movie or playing games, or listening to music, I’d knock on the door with a plate of cookies fresh out of the oven, and a jug of milk.

There were looks of amazement, and big grins as the plate of cookies and the milk quickly disappeared.

We’d take some of those kids to the beach, along with our dog, and pack extra food in the picnic basket.

One summer, one of the boys had pretty much moved in, and I was wondering if I needed to remodel the storage room into a place for him to sleep. One afternoon, his mother called. The guy had been sleeping on our couch, and the end of the kitchen table was his regular place at dinner.

“Is Joe there?” she asked.

Indeed, he is. And it took you over a week to realize you hadn’t heard from him?

Oh, mom, you’ve missed a week of his laughter, of his giggling when he plays fetch with the dog down on the beach, a week of his jokes at the dinner table.

No wonder he’s about moved in here. We’ve been keeping track of him, making sure he has a few meals every day, and a place to sleep. His laundry gets washed and he’s taken on a chore or two to do around here. It’s all part of being in the spirit of hanai.

One time, we took one of the boys to the big city with us, on our annual August back to school shopping trip. I’d had to make a quick trip down the road about forty miles one night, to help him get his back to school money from his dad, before his dad headed off to the tavern with that cash in his wallet.

There was real fear in the eyes of this hanai child, fear that the money would be drunk up before we got there that night. On the way back home, he fell asleep in the back seat of the car, worn out from a day of worrying.

When we hit the big stores in the city, my newest hanai child grinned as he was buying his school supplies, and cried a bit, when I had him pick out a new school back pack, and put it in my cart.

“For you,” I said. “You need a new one for school, you know.”

He looked away, leaning on the shoulder of our foster son, tears welling up in his eyes.

Kids grow up and they move away. And, I never feel really bad when I wave at them as they head off. It is time for them to go, their wings are strong and they are ready to fly. We’ve done a good job, being good parents to each one of the kana hanai who have come into our lives.

We still have our kana hanai. Most of the newer guys live not too far away, living behind prison bars. They stumbled and fell when they were kids, and are working on reinventing themselves, learning to become adults. There are a lot of reasons for that, but they’re still just kids, young men wanting to test their wings, wanting to be part of normal. We go see them often, and celebrate their birthdays, and listen to their stories, and ask how they are doing in school, how they are making their way through their lives.

We pay attention to them, we care about them, and we listen to them. We show up, and we come to visit when we say we are coming. And, a lot of that is foreign to them, and they don’t know quite what to make of it. Just like a lot of the other hanai kids I’ve had in my life, kids just wanting to be normal.

When they get out of prison, they come to our house and eat dinner with us, and play games and go to the beach. Just like all the other hanai children in our lives, we put their pictures on the fireplace mantel, and talk about them with our friends.

We go visit them and spoil them a bit, as they share their challenges and their successes with us.

A few years ago, we spent some time in Hawaii, talking with families and some parents of kana hanai. We shared our stories, and our love for our adopted ones, lost kids we opened the door to, and invited in for some family time, providing a refuge from the world, and a place to laugh and be themselves.

In Hawaii, those who have hanai children have a special place in the community. They have a special place in the village, a place of honor and respect. They are seen as the special glue that keeps their culture healthy and their children strong. Kana hanai families are a big part of the fabric of the community, and a savior of youth who could become lost, and even thrown away.

My village isn’t in Hawaii, but we have a lot of kana hanai, and a lot of parents of their beloved hanai. And, together, we are raising a stronger village, rich in kids, and rich in the spirit of aloha and kana hanai.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

8/27/2013