Letters of Gratitude, No. 4

Isaac,

My biggest brother, always tall and wise beyond your years. My childhood memories of you are slim, six years my senior--I remember vividly a protector, a quiet and present conscience and most importantly, a role model.

I don't know if I've ever said this to you out loud, but I look up to you in some many ways. I remember Dad saying that you came home from winning the gold medal at the national Academic Decathalon competition in writing, and I went to school the next day and bragged to all of my friends that you were the best writer in the whole country.

I kept a photo of you in my wallet after that, for some reason. I'd show you around middle school and say, he's smart and handsome! Well, not always:



But really, the best writer in ALL OF AMERICA. What a guy! It shows, I still read back through some of your well-put-together email chain arguments with the uncles when I'm tempted to send something in all caps instead. It always grounds me.

That's the thing, Dad, Eli and I all share a fairly fiery temper and a loud mouth. Those two combined can make a tough conversation tougher. So sometimes I think about your calm, generally collected, meticulously logical format of analysis and it takes the flame down to some more useful and long-lasting charcoals. The way you approach a problem is always impressive. I also have a memory of flying back to Hawaii and the pilot announced a competition:

Who could calculate how long the rest of the flight would take given the wind speeds, mileage left and average pace? The person who could get the closest got some sweet prize. You and several other passengers (including myself, who got lost drawing trains and point A to point B and trying to scramble for my Algebra) went to work. I think you won a bottle of wine which you graciously passed to Mom and Dad. I thought for you, oh darn! He didn't get a prize.

But then you looked at me with that huge, almost maniacally proud grin on your face, and I knew that you just wanted to win. The triumph of being the best on that whole damn plane was enough. A Robinson, no matter how you swing it. :) Kind of like this I think:


Anyway. In the last year I got to spend more than two incredible holidays and many incredible moments with you, two of my favorites being the speech you gave at Eli's wedding and watching you get prepped for your own wedding in Thailand. Both of which are pictured here:


The speech made me cry, bud. It was probably the first time I had ever heard you speak publicly about the major health issues you got through a while back, and you talked about how grateful you were that Eli had come to support you in that time. Two pretty emotional things happened in me at that moment. The first was that perhaps for the first time, I realized my biggest brother wasn't invulnerable. I mean, I've known all my life that your health has always been both an obstacle and an incredible accomplishment--but something about hearing it that day really hit it home for me. The second thing I took away was that I haven't gotten to know you in the ways I wish I could have. It was a bit like listening to a speech from someone I've known forever but I haven't really ever sat down with and had a heart-to-heart with. Really--I've known you my entire life.

Anyway, your wedding in Thailand was life-changing. For a couple of reasons. 1. You look so dapper in eyeliner. 2. You can't just lie about knowing four languages to the people at the third gate. Your bride was at stake!

All joking aside, I couldn't have been more grateful for the life experience that trip gave me, and for a momentous occasion! I couldn't even feel the stress on you and Oy, though I'm sure there was plenty!

I can't wait to get to know you more,  brother, and I love you so very much. Thank you for always being an inspiration, a shoulder to lean on, and helping lock Eli out of the house when he was being a jerk.

Love,
Leina`ala

Letters of Gratitude, No. 3

Eli,

You know what's coming--I laugh hardest and easiest with you. The closest image I have of our relationship is this:

Remember when you were pregnant and smoking a cig that one time? I loved those overalls. On a serious note--you give me cojones so big in the workplace I can't fit them in my damn overalls anymore. When I ask for a raise I always think about you. You have always been so confident in pursuing what you want to be doing, and forgetting everything else. When you aren't challenged or stimulated, you're not interested--and I inherited that trait from you.

That doesn't only hold true for work, you're like that about most things in life. Dad, you and I all have an adrenaline craving like a bad habit. Remember going segway-ing and you and Dad were fooling around during the instructional period in the beginning and Dad busted ass? If only you had had your GoPro on, I still remember him taking out most of the bicycle stand, landing on his butt and you hysterically laughing behind him.

Your laughter is so contagious, and you have one of the best smiles out there. Exhibit A:

And you know you are the connoisseur of the best facial expressions on the planet.

The "I have a turkey and WILL NOT give it to you, you bitch."

\

The "I 'm crying at my wife's wedding vows because I have a heart of gold."

The Napoleon Dynamite. "Shia LA BEOUF"

The "I have a sandwich and WILL NOT give it to you, you bitch. I also hear voices."

The "old japanese man."

The "oh my gawdddd soooo many hottiez all around me. HALP!"

The fishbowl. Similar to soooo many hottiez but warped.

Alright, embarrassed yet? NO! Of course not. You're a significant soul my friend, one that I've seen transform and be moved in so many ways through our lives. I wouldn't be your little sister if I didn't acknowledge just how awful you made my childhood. I have some thick, thick, emotional skin brother--and I'm grateful for it.

Remember that video of the Easter egg hunt? I was probably two, had just started doing that adorable toddler run/walk thing. I was in my pink lacy Easter dress and Mom & Dad had put out some "easy eggs" in the middle of the yard so I could find some with my two-year-old-undeveloped-brain. Dad said, " 1, 2, 3, GO!", You and Isaac sprinted off into the yard, Dad stayed behind to tell me to look for eggs. I waddled off the back porch, onto the grass, two steps from my first Easter egg, basket too-big-for-me-to-carry in tow, and you ran in front, grabbed the egg, threw it in your basket and ran off. Isaac says something to you in the video and you came back and put it in my basket.

Once, there was a huge wolf spider in Dad's truck, and it ran under the seat in front of me. You switched spots with me for the rest of the ride and put your arm around me.

More than once, you pinned me to the ground and dribbled a disgusting spit wad over my face precariously, letting it come within a quarter inch of my nose. Then, you dropped it. Huge, mucous membrane--all over my face. I cried and took a shower.

You came to visit me in Harrisonburg and we went to a Jell-O wrestling party and had the time of our freaking lives--both of us being awesome wrestlers made it so easy, whatever the medium. You came to the gay club with us and despite being groped by a million attractive men, didn't make a move on any of them ONCE. I still never understood--they were so good looking. :) We danced so hard and it was amazing.

Anyway, thank you for being a blast--24/7. For being kind (most of the time), determined, and an incredible big brother.

I love you,

Leina`ala

Letters of Gratitude: No. 2

Dad,

I'm sure you are aware that you are the second person I ever met--thus letter number 2. You are my rock, my confidant, my inspiration and, sometimes--can really push my buttons. To put it shortly, every tough decision I've made in my life, I've called you to get some wisdom on. When you weren't available, there was some ethereal you floating in my head, delving out level-headed-both-sides-of-the-story devil's advocate kind of advice.

I remember the moment I realized this fact. I was going through a tough decision at work and was talking it over with Katie and she said, "Call your Dad--you always do." It's kind of a beautiful thing, when someone who knows you so well knows who your person is before you have the chance to voice it to yourself. That's you, pop: my person. You have read the newspaper and drank two cups of tea every day for my entire life. Do you know who reads the newspaper? People who care about the planet, who analyze the world around them with such meticulous and balanced evaluation that the tightrope we all precariously march across becomes a bit wider for them. Do you know who drinks tea? The British.

You age with grace, power (think of all your cool powerful Hilo connections. Mayor? Yup. Supreme Chancellor of the University? Yup. The Hawaiian community? Yup.) and perhaps my favorite, an I-don't-give-a-shit-anymore kind of attitude. Now--I can already hear you replying in your head to me "I don't give a 'shit', what is that supposed to mean Lei?". That's you pushing my buttons. What I mean, dear father, is that you're entering the realm of retirement with a renewed sense of self--I think. You crack more ridiculous jokes:

You are letting your goatee and your hair grow out to a hippie length, going to the doctor more often (thank you, by the way--that always worried me about you) and call me spontaneously to get some daddy-daughter time.

I remember going to the fair with you when I was in high school and I totally played that old 50s trick--"Daddy, that giant fuzzy bear is SOOO cute!!" I won. Without a thought, you shelled out a twenty and won me that damn bear like a boss. You still hold my hand in public and I think it's the best. You and I can rock more than a few margaritas while you play hooky from work and have a great time speculating about the state of the universe for hours.

You're such a mountain man. Remember when you took me to work on the mountain? We'd leave the truck behind when we couldn't drive in any further, hike in and encounter a herd of wild cattle and you'd say something surreptitiously cautious about how wild bulls are extremely aggressive--then proceed to the hill ahead (upwind of course) and do this ridiculous bull call that would immediately clear the herd from where we were walking. You tell stories of being chased by every large ungulate out there and blow vuvuzelas at bull elephants with your helpless daughter at the wheel of our escape vehicle.

Can't wait to make more memories with you, Daddy. I love you, and always appreciate being your favorite daughter!

Leina`ala

P.S. Us in Polokwane for the World Cup with our infamous vuvuzelas:

Letters of Gratitude: No. 1

Mama,

It seems fitting that my first letter in the series be aimed at the first person I ever met. The throws of your womb at the time only my subconscious is gracious for--but nearly 25 years later, the cognizant Leina`ala sits straining for your warm embrace more frequently than the reality.

I will never forget what Jim said after a heated debate over the Robinson Thanksgiving dinner in 2012; "Leina`ala, there are two people in this family that are the smartest people I have ever met. Your cousin Cathy, and your mother. You are already lucky enough to look just like her, work towards a brain like hers." It caught me off guard, as I had never heard you pick apart the state of the union with the family, and in my understanding of Dad's family; that's the only way to prove yourself.

I know it to be true. I remember you re-teaching yourself trigonometry for a few hours out of my textbook in high school, only to help me with my homework, not by helping me through the problem I was stuck on, but by posing a simple question: "why are you stuck?". When I said, "I don't understand the purpose of knowing all of this. Sine, cosine, tangent--I've never heard any adult use those outside of school." You smiled warmly and replied, "nothing is useless."

Nothing is useless. Mom, you are the living, breathing image of practicing what you preach. You recycle everything. Materials, feelings, thoughts, and my favorite, generosity.

If you're reading this and have ever met my mother, there is a 98% chance that you have received a gift or ten from her. A physical, in hand gift, with a small note about how she thought of you when she bought, made, saved, clipped or scrounged it up for you.

Mom, you leave macadamia nuts for servers at every table we eat out at. Every roommate I've ever had received an awesome Christmas present or two. Friends I don't even remember from high school received handmade graduation presents from you, and you have presents picked out for my birthday (12/16) in March.

You are the most positive person I have ever met. I left my purse at work the other day, and $50 was stolen out of it. The next day, as I asked around trying to figure out what happened--someone suggested the cleaning people may have taken it, since no one else was in the building later than me. My immediate thought was "I hope it went somewhere good. Put dinner on the table, or clothing on bodies."  That attitude was born and raised from you, Phyllis Lei Robinson.

You cry at everything and nothing. You cry in movies, commercials and when you've heard terrible/amazing news. You don't cry when life gets really hard. You are calm, cool, collected, and tourniquet the bleed with the prowess of a medical professional; literally and figuratively. You laugh at everything and nothing. Dad and I were talking on the phone last week and he said he hasn't heard you laugh like this in so many years, that you're so lighthearted these days. Nothing makes me more happy than hearing your laugh.

I love you, and can't wait to see you this Christmas!
Leina`ala

P.S. Us in Paris, me--exhausted of travelling. You? Boning up on some local South African fiction to get a better idea of what the country we're visiting is going to be like.