Adapt or Die

One thing I clearly remember when I was seven or eight years old was that I picked up Hawaiian slang or "pidgin" English pretty fast. At that age it wasn't a even a conscious choice, it was a response driven by fear. With my blond hair, skinny legs, and stubbed toes I was a pretty self-conscious haole boy. The local Hawaiian kids, or mokes, always appeared cocksure and ready to beef. After all, it was their land I was walking on. I needed to show the mokes I met at the playgrounds or beaches that we had something in common. Speaking their language seemed most convenient.

At times though, I found myself making up new "pidgin" words or butchering the English language even more just to distance myself from the real haoles.

I tried it and it seemed to work. Sometimes I'd be out numbered or they'd start pushing me around. The more scared I got the thicker my pidgin got. When it got real dicey, I started swearing. If I threw in some really foul words, I found the mokes would back off. I guess they thought that proper haoles didn't swear, so hearing this skinny haole kid swearing like one madda-fuckin' son-of-one-fuckin'-beetch made him okay.

Sometimes I'd get slapped in the face anyway.