Above, the wāhine in our lives: daughters Gina, Beth, Tiara, Kulani and Ceronda. - Family photos: Courtesy of Jeno Enocencio.

When falling in love,
passion matters

By Jimmy F. "Jeno" Enocencio

What is it about love that no matter all the millions of people in the world, no matter how vast the 'scrapers in the cities, the most remote of villages in the Amazons, that we become attracted to one person and fall in love?

I was a senior at Hilo High, she was in the 10th in '69. Caroline's hair was long and straight with hints of peroxide shown through the Hilo sun. Her face was like that of a French model with wide eyes lined with thick mascara. Lashes curled touching her thinned brow above shades of blue, green, orange, pink and sometimes lavender, colors so hot they crumbled my soul. Her face was tiny as the gentle body that carried her that matched well with the modern craze of miniskirts and go-go boots that Nancy Sinatra wore. Her care for the "mod" look unmatched other conservative girls in the school. "I Feel Fine," as the song of the Beatles played in my mind. But she was Bobby's girl.

Even while going with Bobby, I asked her to go out with me to the school dances. Her dad wouldn't let her go nowhere. Bobby's mom was just as strict, being Mormon and all. Carol's dad just didn't like Hawaiians, being Filipino and all. But that didn't stop me from asking her to the prom. But as fate would have it, I took yet another sweet girl to the prom: Chassy Jean. But it was Caroline that I saw in the reflection of Chassy's loving face.

Upon graduating, I went to Moloka'i to pick pine, to make just enough money for a '56 Chevy that I could hotrod and put a 350 in with dual quads, a 3/4 cam and Hedman headers and a 4-speed Hurst with Posi-traction and wide-ovals and chrome rims. … Anyway, that was the dream. Caroline and I were worlds apart that summer of '69 as she visited family in Wahiawā learning to cook Filipino food, clean up and be waitress to all the manongs at the cockfights. She hated it. Too many flies, too many hands. In the dusty fields in the coolness of the setting sun, I met another delicate flower: Jenna. But she too imaged the lasting vision of Caroline.

Granddaughters Tatyana and Sadie with Grandma Caroline and Aunty Ceronda. - Family photos: Courtesy of Jeno Enocencio.

Summer was pau and I began to wonder of Caroline as I saw Bobby sitting in church next to his mom. I never could figure out what she saw in him. He was a mouse next to me, fragile and timid. But he was a slammer when it came to volleyball. I don't think I could reach the top of the net, let alone slam the ball into the opponent's face. Bobby was his own type of man, but I was a koa, mean and fierce, able to pick spiking pine in the dust and toxin-filled fields and stinking with sweat. But I still couldn't win his girl.

After church, all seven of us kids and mom loaded onto our '67 Chevy Nova station wagon and headed home for our traditional poor folks lunch: Kool-Aid and tuna sandwich with onions, no mayo. As we approached Caroline's home, something compelled me to yell, "Stop the car!" I popped out like toasted bread, as my mom asked, "Eh! Whea' you tink you going?"

Without answering, I commanded my brother Allen to give me his leather jacket. "Nah!" he said, "You goin' rip 'em!" Finally, with reservation when putting it on, he said, "Eh, fit … Ma, look, he fit 'um … he stay skinny!" Mom smiled as I shut the door and called out her name from the bottom of the stairs. Caroline … Carol.

When she approached the screen door, she looked beyond the 13 steps that it would take for me to be next to her. She smiled. I smiled from ear to ear as she invited me in. "You like eat?" "Whea' yo' faddah and maddah," I asked. "Dey went downtown." "Yeah, wot get?" "Adobo and hot rice." Just what I was hoping for, Filipino food. Anything but tuna and Kool-Aid.

1956 Chevy. - Photo illustration: Nelson Gaspar

As we sat talking of each other's summer experiences and the breakup of her and Bobby, I knew that this was my one chance that I was looking for. "Caroline … 'um, Carol … ," I mustered as I swallowed the last pork fat, "You like go steady wit' me?" After what seemed like an eternal pause of silence, "Yeah," she quietly whispered. "I always wanted to go wit' you."

Tell you wot brah, adobo and hot rice and the kiss of a beautiful wahine taste even betta' at the same time.

We had our share of good and tough times like many couples do. It's no Camelot when you're with another person with different upbringing, hopes and dreams and aspirations. It's especially tough when a wahine tries to change the ruffled man she married into the ideal "Ken" doll so she can be Barbie. But as we went through life, things had a way of working out for the better; sometimes positive and at times negative.

If this makes any sense to you, it seems that the negative aspects of life allowed us to grow even more, especially when it put us in our place to make the necessary adjustments to make things right again. Life too is complicated, and it takes two, a man and a woman, to figure things out together.

We have three girls and two boys together, and beautiful son- and daughters-in-law. By beautiful, I am speaking of their spiritual beauty, not only the physical. They have enlightened our lives throughout Caroline and my 37 years of marriage. We will have been going steady 40 years come Aug. 20, my birthday. We never felt like we were married, more like we were going steady. That keeps us young and able to run and catch our mo'opuna. And though we huff and puff more frequently than before, we often find time to catch each other also. Happy Valentine's Day, Caroline, and to the sweethearts we made together.

Note: The names of the girls I dated were changed to protect their identities, but they should know who they are when they read this column. The moments we spent together came and blew away, but were never forgotten.

Jeno Enocencio writes about the many hats he wears.
Contact him at pointman_jeno@msn.com