A Memorable Childhood Trip

Oahu Vacation

It was a summer trip to the beach on the island of Oahu with my family.  At 8 years old, I recall sneaking an Oreo cookie to bed and hiding it under my pillow.  In the morning, I awoke to thin line of black ants coming and going from beneath my pillow.  Quickly pulling the pillow back, the ants had set up camp and were devouring my prize possession.  I took notice that the army of scavengers cleverly nestled upon every inch of the cookie, leaving nothing to spare.  The orchestra of dissection well underway, ants carried off pieces across the floor to a crack in the floor.  And so began my day, dejected, I hurriedly disposed of the remains and scattered the remaining ants to the four-winds with a broom and towel.  With no one else awake and the ocean waves heard breaking on the beach outside, I ventured outside to explore.  In Hawaii, we often were barefoot and on the beach, the sand was still reeling from the cold night under the palms.  The ocean in sight and snaking my way around a few bushes, the cove was inviting and ominous at the same time.  In a strange setting, there was nothing familiar besides the sand between my toes, the fresh air from the Pacific ocean, and the beach that could be found anywhere else on the island.  However, the exploration of this cove would be my newest and most memorable experience largely because of the associations, from the cookie to the social interaction to come.  Running into the water, I swam around in the temperate water, slightly colder than a luke-warm bath.  After awhile, I saw some boys with a dog coming down the beach and tried to interact with them.  As they went to and fro, I found myself curious about them, even wanting them to include me in their games.  At one point, one of the boys called me over and asked me if I wanted to see their underground fort.  Of course, I did.  "Stand here and guard our underground base", said the boy.  "But don't look for the opening.  It's locked.  We'll be back later and show you around."  As they walked away, I could hardly contain the excitement of being invited into their sacred space, and included in their gang.  An hour passed and my mother could be heard up the beach calling us to breakfast.  I stood my ground, diligently waiting for the boys to return.  My mom walked up and asked me what I was doing, to which I answered with vigor and passion.  She took my hand, "Come with me, son."  But I had to stay, to which she grinned and coaxed me to follow with my favorite breakfast menu waiting inside at the kitchen table, scrambled eggs and hot cocoa.  I eventually relented and enjoyed the meal, all the while purposing to stand watch afterwards.  My mom knew I might do so and gently broke the news, and the rouge that I had swallowed hook, line, and sinker.  Still, I took off to see for myself, and after several minutes of digging in the sand, I gave up.  Dejected, I regarded my surroundings, the cookie lost to the ants, and passed the rest of the trip away sitting in front of the television set.