Family Matters
Telling no lies doesn't always mean truth will be revealed
The television scene is familiar: A courtroom drama unfolds. The witness is standing at the lectern, right palm raised, and the bailiff says: "Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do," is the response.
There have been many times when I have seriously thought of implementing the swearing-in process with my own family. I've been frustrated in situations that call for the individual (or the alleged culprit) to tell the truth.
Truth-telling in early Hawai'i had many dimensions, as it does today.
There was 'oia, or plain truth, which was void of embellishment, innuendo or emotional involvement.
On the opposite end of the spectrum was 'ohaohala, or spreading in error, the exaggeration of truth.
"Truths so emphasized that conflicting facts, opinions or arguments are minimized or omitted," wrote the late Hawaiian scholar Mary Kawena Pukui, "the law, politics, advertising and public relations know this truth-telling well."
But the ultimate in truth-telling is 'oia'i'o.
'Oia'i'o is truth that goes beyond "intellectual openness."
"Oia'i'o is truth in the feeling sense," Pukui wrote.
"You feel whether what you are saying is 'oia'i'o or not. Hawaiians believed the intellect and emotions both came from the na'au," or gut.
A few weeks ago, my eldest son asked if he could go visit his friend next door.
"Sure," I said. "But I really don't want you to sit in his house all day playing video games."
"I won't, mom," my little cherub said, beaming.
A couple of hours went by, so I decided to check on him.
"Son," I called out. "It's time to come home."
As he hobbled across the lawn, I noticed him squinting his eyes as if he had emerged from the dark crevice of a cave. His face was blotchy and his eyes had a glassy, vacant look — evidence of too much video viewing.
"What did you do at your friend's?" I asked, knowing full well what he had been up to.
"I watched him play a computer game," my 11-year-old said.
"A computer game? I thought I told you I didn't want you to play video games."
"No, mom," said the self-anointed lawyer. "What you told me is that you didn't want me playing video games all day in his house. I didn't play video games. I watched him play computer games. And I went outside to help Aunty burn some termite-infested boards. So in reality, I didn't stay in his house all day."
The one mistake my son made was to proclaim his innocence in front of his father.
"What you have done, son, is taken your mother's statement as an absolute," my husband scolded him. "Essentially, a computer game is a video game. Furthermore, although you did not play, the simple act of passive viewing is considered a form of involvement and was prohibited. Now your outdoor experience, which was essentially to light Aunty's fire, was a five-minute venture to the outside world and does not change the fact that the rest of your time was spent on the computer."
Remarkably, the perpetrator said no more.
This was a situation of 'ohaohala, exaggerating the truth.
But after direct examination, my son decided to follow his na'au and not dispute the plain truth.
How many of us can withstand a similar grilling?
Ka'ohua Lucas has an 18-year-old daughter and two sons, 11 and 7. She hold a master's degree in education curriculum and instruction, and works as an educational consultant on Hawaiian curriculum.
Lucas and fellow Hawai'i parent Lynne Wikoff take turns writing the Family Matters column. If you have comments, questions or suggestions for future topics, write: Family Matters, 'Ohana Section, The Honolulu Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; e-mail ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com or fax 535-8170.
