One Morning On Oahu

I finally get to go to Hawaii.

Growing up, I heard stories about my parents’ wedding and lives in Hawaii.  I’ve seen the photos and over the years I’ve built it up in my head to become a beautiful and mysterious dream world, someplace real that isn’t real.  Hawaii has always been to me a place where my grandparents relaxed on boats, my Aunt Sandy was a tiny young teenager, my uncles Ed and Dennis were gleeful troublemakers, and my mom had long blonde hair.  It was a fantasy, a world I could never touch.  Except now I can.  A series of fortunate events has led to the opportunity for me to visit this place that’s always held a place of honor in our family’s history.

Even better, I’m going with my parents and Bryan.  I understand that to some people, visiting Hawaii with their parents and platonic life partner is not the dream.  But because of the islands’ place of honor in our story, I think it’s a wonderful bit of luck.  To put the cherry on top, we’re staying at the same hotel my parents stayed at on their honeymoon.

We only have four days, so we’re limiting our visit to Oahu.  Bryan, Mom, Dad, and I are all the type to pack in everything we possibly can on vacation, so we already have huge lists of all the things we want to do.  Staying on Waikiki Beach?  Check.  North Shore?  Check.  Iolani Palace, Diamond Head, Dole Plantation, Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific?  Check, check, check, check.

There’s one more thing we’re going to do.  In my opinion, it’s impossible to visit Oahu without visiting Pearl Harbor and the USS Arizona Memorial.  I’m an avid history buff and will go just about anywhere pertinent to any historical event.  Grandma Helen once sat down with me and relived December 7, 1941 from the perspective of her 19-year old self.  The memory has never left me and visiting the memorial is not, in my mind, optional.  This is something I must do.

There’s only one problem.  You know those deep-seated, irrational fears we all have?  Some of us are terrified of spiders, some snakes, some heights.  I know someone who recoils at turtles.  Everyone has something that gives her the willies for no reason at all.  Everyone understands irrational fears because everyone has them.  Unless, of course, you have my particular irrational fear, which is ‘human things under water.’

I don’t mean human remains (though the thought of that certainly doesn’t make me feel better).  I mean anything made by man, anything which should exist above water, but is under water.  I can’t fully explain it but I believe it’s something to do with a vague unease about the world not being ordered in the manner I expect or understand, and a sense that for anything man made to be underwater it’s typically because something went wrong.

Whatever the reason, I have this fear.  The chains which hold a dock in place?  Terrifying.  I don’t swim because I hyperventilate just seeing them.  Images of the sunken Titanic?  Absolute, unequivocal no.  Dave and I once came across a National Geographic article about the wreck; I was desperately fascinated, as was he, but because of the pictures I couldn’t even look at it.  He had to read the entire article aloud to me.  Thank goodness I’m always doing something else when I watch tv – Bryan and I have a tacit understanding that when something underwater appears on a show or in a movie, he will warn me when it comes on and give the all clear when it’s gone.  Even the ‘fish are friends, not food’ scene in ‘Finding Nemo,’ the one with the sharks and the sea mines, is too much for me.  I’ve heard the scene many times; I’ve never actually seen it.  I can’t even see animated fish swimming through a CGI world without having a negative visceral reaction.  It’s an uncomfortable feeling of intense panic, combined with nausea and an instinct to run.  I know it’s weird but it’s my weird, dang it, and I know you’re all odd ducks in your own ways as well.

The USS Arizona Memorial is, as I’m sure most of you know, built over the wreckage of the USS Arizona.  If you don’t know, take a minute to Google images of the Memorial.  See that?  See the problem?

I haven’t the faintest idea how I’m going to do this.  Really.  I can’t for the life of me understand how in the world I’m going to manage to get myself to the Memorial and stay there, or appreciate everything it has to offer, or how I’m going to honor The Greatest Generation, all while being so acutely, painfully aware of what lies beneath.

I pulled up tourist images on TripAdvisor, thinking maybe I could ease myself into it.  No bueno.  I warned my mother, who bless her heart was thoroughly confused, to expect that I will cling tightly to her hand the entire time.  (“But Lyz, you can’t see any human remains… You don’t swim because you’re afraid of dead people???…  Maybe you’re not clear there aren’t any bodies floating… Okay, I don’t understand what’s happening right now but I will hold your hand if you want me to.”)  I tried watching some of those shipwreck shows on the History Channel.  I’ve read all I can find, trying to get a sense of the experience as a whole.  I don’t know what else I can do to prepare myself.  I’m locked in a weird place, between an overwhelming excitement for the trip and a shadowy dread for this terrifying experience I know I’ll have.

Of all the things I’ve tried to do to prepare myself, the one thing I haven’t done is consider skipping it.  Honestly.  In part, I want to feel more connected to my grandmother.  I want to stand in the place she told me about.  When our loved ones pass on, we find that we’ll do unexpected things to feel their presence again.  Grandma was the person who made Pearl Harbor not just a memorized fact but a tragic event.  Pearl Harbor changed her reality the way 9/11 changed mine and I can’t resist the pull to a place which may give me a better understanding of her story.  It’s a place where history, specifically Grandma’s history, can come alive.

As hugely sentimental as that is, what draws me to the Memorial in equal measure is a sense of duty and honor.  The attack on Pearl Harbor was a monumental turning point in our nation.  Thousands of people woke up that morning expecting another beautiful day in paradise, but instead became victims of an unprovoked and unexpected massive tragedy. When the Empire of Japan set about destroying a strategic naval command, they put in motion the manifestation of a destiny we didn’t know we had.  (And please don’t consider my use of that phrase in any way an endorsement of Andrew Jackson’s vile 19th century policies.)  Over a thousand people died that day, half of them on the Arizona.  They died in a surprise assault because they were Americans, and the attack prompted our immediate entry into the world war we’d previously avoided.  It draws a chilling parallel to current events.  Pearl Harbor mobilized a downtrodden country and united its citizens in a common purpose and pride.  The horrors of the Great Depression made way for patriotic self-sacrifice.  Men, including both my grandfathers, went to war.  Women joined the workforce in unprecedented numbers.

You all know what happened after that.  The Axis powers were defeated by the combined efforts of the Allies.  Hitler’s atrocities were exposed.  We dropped the first (and only) atomic bombs in the history of war.  Soldiers came marching home to begin an era of peace, growth, and prosperity.  Israel was finally established and gave old prejudices a new target.  Women, whose mothers had played such a pivotal role in the wartime work force, began expanding their horizons beyond traditional roles.  The end of the world war brought the beginning of the Cold War.  Engineering advancements made in the early 40s were instrumental in developing the technology to send us into space.  The critical contributions of African Americans overseas helped launch the Civil Rights Movement.  (Though the natural inclination of a people to rise up against systemic injustice would have made the Civil Rights Movement a reality regardless.)  My parents were born – which I acknowledge is probably more personally noteworthy to my brother and myself than to most others.  The world has evolved in ways we could never have imagined on that fateful December day nearly 75 years ago.  The attack brought about immeasurable changes, altered our national course, and ultimately birthed our emergence as a world superpower.

Such was the nature of WWII that our participation was inevitable.  Eventually something else would have pulled us into the conflict, and it’s likely the advancements that followed our involvement would have happened in much the same manner.  But something else didn’t pull us into the conflict.  Pearl Harbor did.  It is without question the very least I can do to pay my respects at the solemn (if terrifying) site memorializing those first sacrifices which brought us to where we are today.

And unlike the brave and unfortunate men and women of December 7, I have warning of the fear I’ll face one morning on Oahu.