FAMILY MATTERS
How much to insure a 'roach-killer foot'?
By Ka'ohua Lucas
I struggled awake, peering at the alarm clock.
It was just after midnight.
The thud that jolted me had come from the bathroom.
Was it my eldest son crashing into the wall as he tried to support himself while half asleep?
Or could it be my 8-year-old walking in his sleep — again — and mistaking the bathtub for his bed?
As I looked through the opened bedroom door, I listened for some sign of life.
Silence.
Then, I heard the toilet flush.
OK, whoever was in there was still breathing.
I fell back asleep.
The mystery of this incident was solved the next afternoon.
"Roach-killer foot!" my husband yelled, raising his foot in mid-air and driving it down, crushing the mahogany-colored, soft-body pest with long feelers.
"Eeww! That's gross, Daddy," our youngest son moaned.
"These feet were made for stompin'," Dad chortled.
"Yeah, Mom, you know what happened last night?" our eldest asked. "Kulani (his friend) was using the bathroom, and a cockroach climbed up his leg. So he had to do a tap dance to get it off, and he tripped and fell down."
"Oh, so that's the loud noise that woke me up," I said with a laugh.
In our household, it doesn't matter how many roach traps I set. The ugly pests keep reproducing. We've tried poisoning them, trapping them and shooing them outdoors.
But the most effective instrument of control is my husband's foot. As pianists insure their hands for millions of dollars, I should insure my husband's feet.
Early Hawaiians had a saying for a person who was a pest: "Ka mu 'ai paka o Pu'unui," or "the tobacco-eating bug of Pu'unui."
We can also, some say, tell between a kama'aina and a malihini by their reaction to a roach.
I'll never forget my childhood friend, Sheri, who was terrified of roaches. And for some odd reason, they were attracted to her.
One day, she was sitting on a chair, minding her own business, when a cockroach spied her from afar.
Sheri could see it across the room, revving its wings, preparing for flight.
With a steely gaze, she did her best Clint Eastwood impersonation, saying, "Don't you think about flying in my direction!"
To her dismay, the roach took off with warp speed, crash bombing into her face. As she screamed, trying to fend off the attacker, it tried to escape, weaving itself into her long, blond hair.
As poisoning or trapping the pest was out of the question, I snatched a rubber slipper from outside the door and attempted to whack the roach out of her hair. Eventually, it escaped to the rafters of the house.
Maybe I should consider patenting one of my husband's feet. I could make a rubber mold of its sole and attach a sturdy handle. Environmentally conscious consumers just might flock to purchase this "roach-killer foot."
Too bad that I didn't think of such a plan sooner. Then Kalani easily could have whacked that roach off of his leg — and my much-needed sleep would have remained uninterrupted.
Ka'ohua Lucas has an 18-year-old daughter and two sons, 12 and 8. She holds a master's degree in education curriculum and instruction, and works as an educational consultant on Hawaiian curriculum. Write her at: Family Matters, Island Life, The Honolulu Advertiser, P.O. Box 31109, Honolulu, HI 96803; or send e-mail to ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com or fax 535-8055.
Correction: Kulani Watson's first name and the reference to the cockroach, "Ka mu 'ai paka o Pu'unui," were misspelled in a previous version of this story.
