Origins

I just finished reading (most of) Barack Obama's "Dreams From My Father" and it really struck a cord with me personally. It stirred in me feelings that I hadn't given much attention to in over twenty five years. So I felt compelled to to explore them here, maybe explore them with other people like me, those with two degrees of separation of Barack Obama.

Although I'm not a half-blooded African-American, I'm pretty much a full-blooded Caucasian-American. Although I didn't spend much of my childhood in either Africa or Indonesia like Barry did, I lived most of my childhood in Hawaii in the 1960's and 1970's, too. Although his parents were mostly apart, my parents were mostly together. Although I wasn't in the same grade as Barry, we both went to Punahou School and had many of the same teachers, coaches, and friends. And although I didn't speak with him much, a friend of mine seems to have spoken to him a lot.

Since Barack is now the President-Elect of United States of America, I have learned that a lot of people I knew then seem to have spoken to him a lot.

This discussion centers on the early years of Barry's life, as described in Chapters Three and Four of "Dreams", as well as my own. I hope to explore the issues of race and identity in the unique "melting pot" of my youth that, in some ways, parallels his.

First off, congratulations to Barack for his achievement. It is, after all, an achievement and a lesson for all of us. It seems to be a result of both his ongoing quest for finding himself and making right in the world, as well as the support and belief in him by those who have and continue to surround him. To me, this is both amazing and yet not-so amazing that a person of mixed racial heritage would be voted into the highest office in the land, if not the world.

As for me, my family moved to Honolulu from the east coast in the mid-1960's. I started Punahou School in first grade and graduated from its high school in the 1970's. Punahou is a K-12 school. It is the oldest private school west of the Mississippi and celebrated its 125th anniversary while I was there.

Hawaii had been a state for less time than George W. Bush's has been president. Honolulu was transitioning from an romantic post-war vacation paradise into a major metropolitan city, cultural center, and trade port. It was a tropical Venice, the hub for most commerce in the Pacific Rim. Wooden galleys had been replaced by steel container ships while horse and cart had been replaced by 500 mph airliners. Millions of people per year from Asia, the south Pacific, and North America passed through its waters and skies. People from all different nationalities, backgrounds, and ethnic groups, and professions made the journey to the most remote land mass on earth.

All that and a war.

The Vietnam War was the longest, most remote, and most watched (declared or undeclared) war in U.S. GW II is getting close. Honolulu was central to the U.S. military's efforts to prevent the dominoes of communism from toppling over Indochina, Asia, the Pacific Rim, and beyond. Millions of combat troops and support personnel passed through the waters and skies of Hawaii. The dull gray outlines of destroyers and aircraft carriers were frequently on the horizon off shore. F4 fighters, C-5 transports, H-1 helicopters, and P-3 sub-hunters polluted the skies over downtown Honolulu. Military personnel from all branches of service from over of the country were easy to spot on any beach and in any night club. As the war waged on, new peoples with more exotic foods and harder to spell names fled to the safety of the U.S. looking for a better life.

From that all that activity came growth. With over 400,000 residents and even more tourists, 30-story hotels, shopping centers, and housing developments flowed from the valleys down over the red earth to the beach and splashed back up the mountain ridges. Honolulu was on the verge of sinking, literally, under the weight of statehood.

Against that backdrop, I entered Punahou as the new kid, an outsider. It was a strange land this paradise, but it was to become my sanctuary and salvation for the next twelve years.

When I first came across Barry Obama in middle school I assumed, because of his last name, he might be half Japanese or Samoan or even Tongan. I never played with him at recess or on sports teams because he was younger. In high school, however, I new him to be mostly a jock because I saw him in the locker room, on the basketball courts, and hanging out with other kids that played sports too. He looked nothing like he does today. His skin was deeply tanned from the Hawaiian sun, he had a mini-Afro, and he still had a little "baby fat" that made his cheeks shine. He was just a big sweet teddy bear. What he had back then that he still has today is that big bright genuine smile.

The next time I heard about Barry Obama was from my mother in 2004. She still lives in Honolulu. We had been discussing the elections and she asked me if I watched any of the Democratic convention on television, and I had. I could only recall listening to part of a speech by a young but very charismatic speaker wearing a dark suit and light blue presidential tie. He was very dynamic and left an impression with me. It wasn't just his speaking style that hooked me, it was that tie - right out of George W. Bush's closet. Very shrewd, I thought.

Then my mother offered, "Well you might find this of interest but that was Barry Obama. Do you remember him?"

The question stopped me mid-thought, throwing me for a loop. I had to dig that name out from deep in my past. "From Punahou?", I half-guessed, still trying to connect the dots.

"Yes, his real name is Barack Obama.", she said. "Barry was his nickname."

"Unbelievable", was the only word I could get out. Then it hit home, "You have to be kidding."

I never would have put that face together with that name. No wonder I hadn't recognized him.

"This guy is going to be huge.", I shouted into the phone. And then I connected another dot, "The Punahou alumni must be going nuts over there."