"Well, Miss Lucas," the high school counselor lectured me. "You may never finish high school, and I would be surprised if you even make it into college."

I had just turned 15. I remember feeling that my whole world was falling apart.

I wanted to cry.

I was shame.

Ashamed of myself, and the disgrace I may have caused my family. I wanted to quit, to throw in the towel!

I remember my father threatening to send me to the public school in our district, my mom urging me to, "Imua! Move forward and don't give the counselor a reason to get rid of you!"

My grades were adequate. But my conduct, according to the school counselor, was "deplorable."

When my senior year finally came to an end, I barely squeaked by and eventually graduated, much to my parents' relief.

Fast forward 30 years.

My youngest was 8 at the time. He was playing flag football for a relatively inexperienced team. Somehow he was thrown into the position of quarterback.

He had a pretty good arm, and his passing game was fairly consistent.

One day I picked him up after practice. He yanked the car door open and slammed it shut.

"What's up?" I asked, peering over at him.

He was gripping the water bottle so tight I thought he would puncture it. The irritated expression on his face hinted at what he was about to tell me.

"I want to quit," he mumbled. "My team sucks."

"That's too bad," I responded. "What do you think it is?"

"They can't even catch the ball," he said, gritting his teeth.

I remember him feeling frustrated. When he finally calmed down, we had a chance to discuss the situation.

I reminded him that he was playing with a young team. I also explained to him that being a member of a team carries certain kuleana or responsibilities.

Being quarterback means the kuleana are even greater.

"You can't just up and quit," I said. "You would be letting your team down."

"Yeah, I know."

I also mentioned one of Auntie Mary Kawena Pukui's famous sayings:

He 'a'ali'i ku makani mai au; 'a'ohe makani nana e kula'i. Or I am a wind-resisting 'a'ali'i; no gale can push me over.

This 'olelo no'eau is often called out as a boast.

"I can hold my own even in the face of difficulties."

The 'a'ali'i bush is so sturdy that it can withstand the worst of gales, twisting and bending but seldom breaking.

"See, honey," I said, giving him a hug. "It all has to do with perseverance — hanging in there and not giving up."

My son went to practice the next day and gave his teammates a few words of encouragement.

"Wow, Mom and Dad!" he grinned, climbing into the back seat of the car. "You should have seen Brian today! He made two touchdowns!"

My husband adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could see our son.

"As Winston Churchill once said in the darkest days of World War II when the fate of England was hanging in the balance, 'Never, never, never, never, never surrender!' " he told him.