Island people talk about ‘island time’ as if time were some sort of palpable matter, something you could crumple up and stuff into your back pocket. You still got a hold of it, but it’s serving you no purpose. Who needs time when you’re on an island, though? Nothing’s going anywhere. Things will just happen when they happen. It's the island time. The tide will come when it comes. The waves will break when they do. You'll get your luggage when it gets here (this can be jarring for us city folks).
So, these mini-ramps are part of a playground at the Kauai Mini-Golf & Botanical Gardens near Princeville. After pulling off of the two-lane highway (the only highway on the island), you go down a hill, around a bend, and feast your eyes on two of the sweetest little mini-ramps sitting in an open meadow. I actually heard about them because my girlfriend's dad stumbled upon them by mistake while driving to a job site. How bizarre? How fucking cool? I would have given my right eye for something like this as a preteen (and probably still would now).
The only other people there were parents with small children, some running around the playground, some running around the ramps, and a few trying to accomplish the ever-terrfying first time drop-in on the micro mini. One kid in particular, maybe ten or eleven years old, was really working himself up. He would put his board on the coping and just stare at it for ten seconds or so, maybe reaching his front foot out, but was just too psyched out to really try. Other kids would try to encourage him, tell him he had it, but he would hesitate until his dad, a one man peanut gallery, would yell at him to commit to it already.
“Just do it, Leviah!,” he would shout from his perch on the playground, ukulele in hand. “Don’t be a fucking poser!” He’d continue on a rant about how Leviah always talked about coming to these ramps, but would never commit to dropping in. Meanwhile, the poor kid was standing there, embarrassed and more terrified than before, and I’m listening to the whole thing from the bigger ramp twenty feet away and Christa is sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of it all. The heckling continued until, eventually, the taunting father took his son’s board away and told him, “I’m not gonna bring you here anymore. It’s always the same, give me that board.”
Leviah sat on a swing with a sunken head while his father strummed his ukulele. The other kids who must have been his siblings were still enjoying themselves, not openly bothered by the scene. I didn’t know whether I should try to help the kid out and give him a pointer or something, or to tell his morbidly obese dad to take it easy on him, or just to mind my business. Thinking it was best not to tell a stranger how to talk to their kid, I kept skating. That guy clearly had no reservations about the situation. But still, how terrible for the little kid. He probably felt more ashamed than scared because of how his dad treated him. No encouragement, only taunting. It made me wonder how long he'd keep up with skating, if they ever would come back to the ramps.
After a few minutes of time-out, Leviah got up, marched over to his dad, took his board back, and climbed up the ramp. He slid his board out on to the coping, and dropped in with no hesitation, as if he’d been able to do it all along, but just needed the right motivation to really commit.
“Yeaahh Leviah!”, his dad bellowed from the sideline, eager to support in the moment of triumph. "I told you just do it and you got it! Yes, Leviah!"
After a few minutes of time-out, Leviah got up, marched over to his dad, took his board back, and climbed up the ramp. He slid his board out on to the coping, and dropped in with no hesitation, as if he’d been able to do it all along, but just needed the right motivation to really commit.
“Yeaahh Leviah!”, his dad bellowed from the sideline, eager to support in the moment of triumph. "I told you just do it and you got it! Yes, Leviah!"
Photos: Christa Pudlo
