Sunday, March 27, 2011
Go Fish
Yesterday was different. I can remember boys, yeah, three of them. We were around a table and Sarah was there. Sure, cards, soda, chips. What were we playing? That’s right, we were going to play “Go Fish” with the new deck of cards my mom and dad had just sent us. This was going to be great. The cards were not typical, they had native fish from Hawaii on them and I had the bright idea to play “Go Fish”.
So I am dealing the cards and everyone has a blank stare unsure how to move forward. Mike goes first and ask mom for the yellow fish.
“Which yellow fish honey?” she asks.
“The yellow fish with the stripes?” says Mike.
“Show me peanut.” This game is going to be tough.
“Go fish.”
Nate is next.
“Give me the yellow fish Mike.” I sense danger. This situation can go a number of ways, all of them bad. Mike hates to lose, hell, I hate to lose, but Mike hates to lose to his brothers more than anything in his world. Nate, on the other hand, loves beating Mike. It is some sick predictable cycle that has played itself over and over in our home and never ends well.
I am thinking fast of how to handle this or the game is going to be over.
“Mike, just give him your Kikakapu!” I say with just a bit of irritability for emphasis.
And then what has to happen, happens. Anthony and Sarah crack up. It is going to be ok.
“Mike do you have a Nohu?” says Nate. More laughter follows as does a lengthy discussion about the Nohu’s features which we all agree is the ugliest fish we have ever seen.
Each fish that is named is funnier than the last.
Kokala, Ala’ihi, O’ili’uwi’uwi, and Uhu-uliuli. But when Anthony flawlessly pronounces Humuhumu-nukunuku-a-pua’a we all fall over laughing. I cannot breath I am laughing so hard. The muscles on the side of my head hurt from the laugh than has not left my face for so long.
That is when I see it out of the corner of my eye and I am reminded again. It is right there, where it always is.
An empty chair.
So I am dealing the cards and everyone has a blank stare unsure how to move forward. Mike goes first and ask mom for the yellow fish.
“Which yellow fish honey?” she asks.
“The yellow fish with the stripes?” says Mike.
“Show me peanut.” This game is going to be tough.
“Go fish.”
Nate is next.
“Give me the yellow fish Mike.” I sense danger. This situation can go a number of ways, all of them bad. Mike hates to lose, hell, I hate to lose, but Mike hates to lose to his brothers more than anything in his world. Nate, on the other hand, loves beating Mike. It is some sick predictable cycle that has played itself over and over in our home and never ends well.
I am thinking fast of how to handle this or the game is going to be over.
“Mike, just give him your Kikakapu!” I say with just a bit of irritability for emphasis.
And then what has to happen, happens. Anthony and Sarah crack up. It is going to be ok.
“Mike do you have a Nohu?” says Nate. More laughter follows as does a lengthy discussion about the Nohu’s features which we all agree is the ugliest fish we have ever seen.
Each fish that is named is funnier than the last.
Kokala, Ala’ihi, O’ili’uwi’uwi, and Uhu-uliuli. But when Anthony flawlessly pronounces Humuhumu-nukunuku-a-pua’a we all fall over laughing. I cannot breath I am laughing so hard. The muscles on the side of my head hurt from the laugh than has not left my face for so long.
That is when I see it out of the corner of my eye and I am reminded again. It is right there, where it always is.
An empty chair.
