Posted on: Sunday, April 17, 2005

FAMILY MATTERS
To compete is good ... with humility, better

By Ka'ohua Lucas

"OK, son," I said. "I'll meet you at the checkout stand."

As soon as the words left my lips, I felt like a skydiver beginning her first free fall. Blood rushed to my head. My heart pounded against the wall of my chest cavity. Breathing was

labored. I could feel my sweat glands explode into overdrive.

Gone was the lethargic shuffle, replaced by a lighter, more hurried step.

I was on a mission.

As I clipped down the cosmetic aisle of Longs Drugs, bottles of hair products leaped out at me: spray rinse weightless hair conditioner; nature's therapeutic moisture deep conditioner.

Brow glistening with beads of perspiration, I glanced up at the store mirror pinned to a corner column.

On aisle two, I could see that my son was gaining momentum.

The top of his tousled 'ehu hair expertly maneuvered down the aisle dodging store patrons.

I could hear the thwack of his rubber slippers as they snapped against his heels.

Ah! The cashier was in sight!

Just a few feet away.

My lungs felt like they were on fire. I needed this win.

I thrust my head forward, my torso almost parallel to the floor.

I had him!

In the blink of an eye, my 14-year-old rounded the corner and shot past the checkout stand.

"Aha!" he cried out jubilantly. "I beat you!"

Not willing to concede or admit defeat, I straightened up, dabbed my forehead and smoothed out my shirt.

"I wasn't racing," I lied.

Competition seems to run in our family's blood.

Maybe it has to do with genes.

"Individual competition was also a part of Hawaiian childhood," Hawaiian scholar Mary Kawena Pukui writes.

"At sunset, the children would get together. We would each take a deep breath and then see who could take the longest time to let it out. ... But the winner was always supposed to be ha'aha'a. To be humble. Boasting was dreadful!"

My boys are gradually learning about what it means to be humble. But sometimes their exuberance cannot be contained.

"I beat you!" my eldest bragged, gulping in breaths of fresh air.

The two boys had just finished the "who-can-hold-your-breath-the-longest contest" through the Wilson Tunnel.

"Got you, mom!" my 11-year-old shouts, after manually rolling up his car window first.

When our boys were younger, Dad would play football with them in the yard.

He would toss the ball to our 5-year-old, who would cradle it in his arms and scamper toward the touchdown area.

As my husband would rush the receiver, he would ram into our 9-year-old and send him sprawling to the grassy turf.

Our youngest would hurdle over his brother's battered body, making a beeline for the imaginary goalpost.

Dad would fall to the ground, wrapping his fingers around the ankle of our youngest.

The quarterback yelped in delight as he would attempt to drag the body of the linebacker to the finish line.

A little competition is good.

My husband thinks so.

"Time has taken its toll on us," he pontificates. "It's time for younger generations to move on and find their own way."

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