The Royal Hawaiian float in the canoe pageant

First off, please understand that the depression is based on jealousy from the lack of pride and tradition in my heritage.  Reasonably speaking, there are few cultures on the planet which are as steeped in world history, conflict, and hardship as those from Polynesia.  Today we made a trip to the Polynesian Cultural Center in Laie, Hawaii on the island of Oahu.  (Important note, TripAdvisor lists the PCC is the #1 ranked attraction in Laie, a town of roughly 16 people, so you know its going to be awesome.)

The road out to the PCC.

After the hour and half drive through impoverished neighborhoods and very narrow roads, we arrived at the PCC.  I was trying to remain optimistic about the center, but couldn’t help to be stuck feeling that it better be outstanding after the drive we had just made.  Honestly, I would make the drive again tomorrow.  We had a fantastic time, and although I haven’t visited the other 2 attractions in Laie, I’m quite confident stating that this one is the best.

The PCC is organized by Polynesian culture, focusing on seven major traditional backgrounds.  Each one has its own area with interactive exhibits which range from trying to make fire in Samoa, to sampling poi in Hawaii, to playing stick games common to the Maori on New Zealand, to getting fake tattoos on pretty much any island.  The people working the exhibits were natives of each island and were extremely willing to provide insight and talk to you about their heritage.  They loved working with the kids, and really cared about our experience.

Chloe working like a true Samoan man to weave her basket.

Rylie and Chloe playing sticks like the Maori

In Samoa we watch a show where a true Chief started fire with two sticks, opened a coconut with a very small rock and his hands, and made fun of pretty much every other ethnicity on the planet.  In Tahiti, Rylie learned to shake her hips in a way that puts Shakira to shame and makes me regret the move the Vegas.  On Hawaii, Chloe got schooled in Polynesian bowling (which consists on rolling a thin section of a log down an alley in between two stick buried in the ground) by me, only to have me get spanked by Rylie.  Oh well.

The kids came back tattooed, with lots of great stories, and still talking about the Samoan who convinced us that he was going to jump from one coconut tree to another at 40 feet in the air.  Fortunately he didn’t.  But watching their faces as they learned about the traditions and culture in each island chain couldn’t help but make me wonder if they were confused by the lack of traditions in our past.  I’ll be honest, hundreds of dollars and more hours than I would like to admit doing the research, my time on Ancestry.com didn’t do anything to increase my sense of belonging to any nationality.  My kids will never have to worry about not getting a job because my trade forced them to get a certain facial tattoo.  But at the same time, the amount of pride that exuded from each of the people we met today was overwhelming.

Posing with a Tiki. I’m on the left.

In all, the trip was a success.  The kids got to drive through parts of Oahu that aren’t common for most people staying in Waikiki, and they got to learn a lot about small island chains that they may never actually visit.  (Although Michelle and I are thinking that it might be fun to live on an island for a few years once the kids are older or out of the house.)  Besides, where else would Chloe get to make a banana-leaf basket big enough to hold her, and then ask me with puppy dog eyes, “we can bring it home, right?”  How could I say no?  I had spent hours with people who’s entire existence was based on their families and service to others.  I can’t imagine a Tahitian telling his youngest daughter than her basket wouldn’t fit in the outrigger for the trip home.

Chloe and her basket.