By now it’s no secret that I dance hula—in public. Despite my best efforts to embrace the Aloha spirit, I often see my reasons for dancing as selfish. Namely, it makes me feel good and I know the more I practice, the better I will become. However, this Saturday, a father and daughter reminded me that hula and aloha are about more than just dancing. They are about living in the moment and sharing love, harmony and humility with everything and everyone around you.
My busking partner and I had been invited to perform at a small, fledging market in Bethesda, Maryland. Previous experiences there told us not to expect much, but the allure of a 75-degree, sunny morning was just too good to pass up. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones to feel that way. To our surprise, the market was moderately crowded as young parents strolled through the block with their children romping in fits of giggles and grins not far away. We started up our normal routine and a small crowd formed, adding excitement and energy to the atmosphere. When you perform on the street, you quickly learn that crowds are in a constant state of shifting and changing. So, it was no surprise when half way through our allotted time, the crowd that was once strong had nearly vanished. A few stragglers were here and there, but we had the immediate attention of no one.
That is, until, a pretty, middle-aged woman and an elderly man in a wheel chair walked—or in this case—rolled right up to our performance tent. As I danced, I watched their faces watching me. Something about them was different. They seemed peaceful, content, and not in a hurry like most market goers. In fact, once the number had ended, they didn’t hustle away as most would. Instead, the woman knelt down next to the man, cupped his hand in hers, and whispered things in his ear. “Can you see the beautiful dancer? Can you hear the music?” She calmly, gently engaged him in conversation, all the while keeping her eyes on myself and Moe.
We soon learned she was his daughter and he was 97. In her calm, graceful ways, the daughter informed us that her father’s mind worked perfectly, but other systems were beginning to shut down. The man had lost much of his hearing and vision in his older age. “I can see your movements, but I can’t make out the details of your face,” he told me. With that, Moe and I knew the next number had to be spunky, peppy, fun, flirty and flamboyant. We chose Ka Uluwehi O Kei Kai, an extremely popular song about picking seaweed down by the sea shore.
We began and the daughter once again found her place next to her father, kneeling so that she could hold his hand in hers and stroke his snow-white hair. As I danced, I watched them both, but focused my attention on the daughter. She didn’t need to tell me what she was thinking; her expression said it all. It was clear her father wasn’t going to be around much longer and, through her eyes, her smiles, her gentle ways, she fully accepted that fact. She clung to this shared, fleeting moment and embraced it with every ounce of her being. My dad is happy and so am I.
As I watched the two of them together, a few things began to resonate deep inside.
·
Moments
like these are what life is all about. There is no doubt in my mind these
two will go through painful future experiences. Death is never an easy process,
but it is something we must all experience. Despite these facts, this father
and daughter duo put future struggles on the back burner and focused on what
mattered most: their love for each other, their love of life, and the happiness
of the moment.
·
I want to
be more like this gentle, caring woman. As an only child, I know the day
will come when I will be the primary care taker for my parents. I can only hope
I exhibit half of the grace this woman showed to her ailing, aging father.
·
Death is
part of life. As I danced, I thought about where each one of us was on the
journey we call life. Death has always been a scary concept for me. However, as
I reflected upon myself, my busking partner Moe, the daughter and her father, I
began to understand that death is only an obstacle if one has not fully lived
their life.
This experience taught me that time is a precious, precious
gift. I feel so very blessed to have spent a few moments with some people who
taught me so much about life and about myself. Mahalo nui loa e na ka pua hiwahiwa.