While in Honolulu last month, Dad, Mom, and I spent a few hours driving around the old stomping grounds in the Manoa valley. Included in our stops was the house I was brought home to on 3017 Manoa Road*. We drove by it a few times; it took several takes for the kids to realize which house was theirs. In the last few decades, the owners had constructed a wall out front, making it difficult to recognize.
The house has apparently doubled in size, with a huge addition out back. And hey, it’s for sale. Anybody wanna go in on it with me?
Facing the street while standing on the porch. Why’d they put a wall here???:
My bedroom window’s the last one on the paned wall. Beyond that is the add-on:
*A few years ago when I was in Honolulu, Uncle Sonny and Auntie Joni drove me up to this neighborhood. We tried to find our house by Joni’s memory. She thought it was at 3033 Oahu Avenue, when in fact it was the next block over.
We also drove by the house Mom grew up in on Malama Way. It is under this carport that Mom and Dad had their first kiss. Eeeewww…
Later that day, Pop and I drove out to Makapuu and Sandy’s to get our bodysurfing in. On the way back, he said, “You wanna see Mom’s house?”
“Didn’t we already see it?”
“That was her childhood house,” he explained. “They moved just before she was in high school.”
“Sure,” I said, getting my camera ready.
After missing the turn, he flipped a U and circled back, hanging a left up the hill into a gorgeous neighborhood. Wow. Grandpa really upgraded, I thought.
This was all news to me. While this was the first time I knew about the house, I learned it wasn’t the first time I’d been there. During what you might call a “transition phase” shortly after I was born, Mom and I were living here with her parents before we ultimately relocated to the mainland.
Killer crib, with the backyard facing south overlooking Koko Head. It’s on Ehupua Street, which means “red flower”. When I saw the place I had a strong sense of deja vu flow through me. I couldn’t pinpoint if it was a subconscious memory rooted in reality, or if it just reminded me of the Brady Bunch house, or what. Which is trippy, since I always had a thing for the mid-century architecture of the famous Brady Bunch house. Now I’m wondering if my taste for Mike Brady architecture has anything to do with a reality that’s buried deep in my subconscious memories of babyhood:
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