Born in Paradise

The first word I learned to say was Aloha—“My love to you!”—spoken from the fullness of warm generous hearts. That greeting is the key, the password of racial blends making up the colorful and varied pattern of Hawaii. Not until later, when I visited the sterner lands of more northern latitudes did I realize what a wonderful heritage was ours—we children of white parents born and reared in Hawaii. Unsullied boundless spaces surrounded us; music and mirth were eternally in our ears; the stir of creation filled water, earth, and air; the sweetness of wild ginger blossoms and ripe guavas weighted the wind. Savage silver rain, tawny sunlight over land and sea, flowers tearing from green buds in orange, scarlet, blue, and purple gave a sort of heady intoxication to the nights and days. The very earth underfoot was alive from lava seething through its veins. . . .