Kupuna Means Wise Elder

Kupuna is the Hawaiian word for elder. It actually means more than just being a senior member of the family. Kupuna also denotes wisdom from life's experiences and it's a title of respect. Where I come from, an elder male is considered a "curmudgeon" or, if you're lucky, a "geezer." An elder woman is simply an "old lady," who is probably driving too slow in that Cadillac in front of you.

Believe me, I have at times earned the curmudgeon title and have made a point of attempting to not fall into the habit of complaining about everything from the latest political spat to whining about my sore lumbago.

Here on the island there are many advantages to being kupuna. The state gives handsome discounts to senior residents for taxes and other government-sponsored charges, including golf at municipal courses ("munis"). Foodland, a major grocery chain on the islands, offers a 10% kupuna discount on Thursdays.

A couple of months ago I was checking out at Foodland in Princeville early on a Sunday morning. I turned my head and the dark-skinned kupuna gentleman behind me said to me: "Happy Father's Day." It was the first acknowledgment of Father's Day to reach my ears.

That made my day, one kupuna to another. "Same to you," I said. We were both smiling and the lady at the check out was wearing a big smile, too.

"Ohana," the Hawaiian word for family, is a familiar majorative word on the islands. Families are celebrated daily when referring to the people, older and younger, in your circle of friends. "Uncles" and "Aunties" are not necessarily kupuna but familiar adults. Kids are called "keiki" which has a friendly ring.

Following a surf session recently I was talking story with a fellow kupuna surfer who was born on the island. I told him that our daughter and two grandchildren lived here, and we were considering moving here permanently. He said his daughter could not afford to live on Kauai any longer because of the rising price of homes and that he and his wife were considering moving to Oregon where his daughter and grandchildren now resided, the exact opposite of what we were considering.

As I sit back in my beach chair beneath the monkey pod tree, I reflect on the concept of family. Our children are like seeds that sprout and grow into their own person. Some seeds grow nearby, others are spread widely seeking their own fertile ground, creating Ohana with their friends as I did.

We want to be close to the children of our children because they are special in that they come from our seeds that we have nourished and we want to see them grow and flower. We all cannot live on an island but we can live in our own paradise. And there are many ways to stay in touch.

My kupuna wisdom may be faulty but my intention is sincere. My resolution is to not bark and complain about the tailgater driving behind me. Just pull over, take a deep breath and smile.