FAMILY MATTERS
Sullen behavior garners no sympathy

By Ka'ohua Lucas

"Mmmpf," my 9-year-old said, smoldering.

His arms wound tightly across his chest. His hazel eyes scorched the surface of my skin.

"When I tell you that your 10 minutes are up, I expect you to turn off the video game," I scolded.

Each family member deals with being nuha (sullen) in different ways.

The youngest may sulk, but it is controlled, kind of like a fresh pot of coffee being brewed. It percolates vigorously in the beginning, the brown liquid never quite bubbling over the brim of the pot.

My oldest son's gloom mounts with pressure like a volcano.

If I were to ask him to turn off the video game, the scene would play out like this.

"It's time to turn off the video game, son."

"Why? My 10 minutes isn't up, yet."

"It certainly is."

"Mom, I know what time it was when you told me I had to turn off the game," he'd say, his voice escalating. "And I've got exactly

1 minute and 3 seconds left."

There would be more disagreement and foot-stomping.

His cheeks would flush and his eyes would become large like round, brown 'opihi, or limpets.

There are various ways we handle these ill-humored moods.

The late noted Hawaiian author and scholar Mary Kawena Pukui said that she does not recall her kupuna, or elders, putting anger to work.

There were no instances of "pounding tapa or chiseling wood as a conscious way to 'work off' temper," Pukui wrote.

We found the best way to help our boys is to put them to work. But we are selective in the kind of task we assign them.

We never have them peel kalo or mix poi. We wouldn't want negative mana, or energy, to sour the poi.

Instead, we assign them a menial task such as working in the gulag (known to my boys as labor-intensive yard work), cutting back heliconia and vines that threaten our native plants.

This gives them an opportunity to get some fresh air and feel like they are making a worthwhile contribution to the 'ohana.

And, more importantly, it reminds them that they may want to think twice before acting up.

In fact, I'm certain that my husband sometimes would like to order me to the gulag.

When I'm nuha, I flat out ignore him.

He could be in the same room as me, and I'll pretend to be busy. I'll feign interest in dusting the frame of a painting. One I hadn't looked at in years.

Or I may take to vigorously scrubbing a pot, clanging it against the stainless steel sink.

"So what, Ka'ohua, you mad?"

I give him stink eye.

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

"Is it something I did?"

Silence.

"Ka'ohua, are you upset about something?"

"No," I mumble.

"Then, what is it?"

"Nothing!"

I've decided that most of the time when we become nuha, it's really over the most trivial things. And 24 hours later we can't remember why we were nuha in the first place.

Ha'alele wale iho no i ke kula o Pu'ula. (For no reason he leaves the plain of Pu'ula.)

Translated, it means: He goes off in a huff for no reason at all.

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax 525-8055; or ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com.