Hawaii Bound

My eighth-grade graduation was coming up, and my mom wanted her and me to go on a trip.  She received settlement money from the motel selling as part of the separation from my dad. She wanted to splurge on something nice, even though she was blowing through the money like crazy.  I told her I would have been content going to Mackinac Island in the upper Michigan peninsula.

Nope.  Mom wanted to go big.  She insisted that we should go to Hawaii.  I wasn’t all that thrilled because my mind believed there were tarantulas and other poisonous what not on the islands.  She pushed the issue not because it was what I wanted to do but what she wanted.  There was no convincing her otherwise, so she planned the trip two weeks after I graduated.

It was my first long plane trip.  I took plenty of plane rides between where I lived in Canada to Chicago which usually took approximately three hours total flying.  Hawaii was eight hours from Chicago, and it was a nonstop flight.  We arrived sometime in the afternoon Hawaiian time.

Mom set it up that we would tour three of the islands.  The first island we visited was Oahu. One of our stops was to see Pearl Harbor.  It is a somber sight.  As we ferried towards the memorial, I had the sense of uneasiness.  We disembarked off the boat and unto the memorial where no one said a word.  I looked down the one side of the open area and could see the USS Arizona.  I wanted to leave.  I think the Asperger’s in me could sense the travesty.  At one point, I felt as though I had to puke.  I was relieved to leave and head back.

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