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Remember YOUR "small keed time"?

Those were the good old days! YOU were young, innocent, naive and maybe even a little bit "kolohe" (rascal). When you look back, I bet you cannot help but grin, yeah?  I bet you can just feel a longing oozing up inside of you for a time when life was much simpler. Wherever you live now, if you grew up in Hawaii, you must remember your "hanabuddah days". Eh, no shame ... we all had "hanabuddah".

Eh … right now get choke stories already online written by Hawaiians and Hawaiians at heart. Most all writers had the unique life experience of growing up in Hawaii. That’s why the site is called ”Hanabuddah Days”.

Enjoy these personal stories.

 


 

Island Shopping for Slippas

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We used to live near McCully Street on Oahu. My Filipino friend Nani and me was some poor. So poor sometimes my doll was a coconut that I wen draw a face on and wrap in a blanket. So, of course, we couldn't afford lots of stuff.

Nani taught me a way to get new slippas. You know how local style you leave the slippas outside? Well, Nani and me would do our "shopping" in the McCully area. When we see the kind slippa we wanted, we would go on top the porch and try 'em on. We would be barefooted

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Daddy's Girl

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When I look back, there was so much stuff my Dad did for us kids. Till today, I still can outclass many men at building things. I'm not a Tita, but my dad didn't raise a dummy either. I learned to build things with my dad. I was his "tool girl". I

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The Mongoose Chronicles

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An AlohaWorld Forum Collaboration Edited by Kamaka Brown

When I was small, my fuddah used to tell me stories about the legendary Mongoose Man. Me and my kid bruddah used to stay awake long after we was supposed to be sleeping and talk about

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Da Kamikaze Kakaroach

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In ouah side yahd, up Mânoa Valley, get plenny kakaroaches. Anybody who wen live in Hawai'i know how bad dem buggahs stay. At night, all u gotta do is turn on da light an ho, alla kakaroaches run foah hide. In da cupboards, in da cracks in da

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The Country Cousin

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It took us almost four hours on a two-lane road to get from Waimea to Palolo Valley in my father's '52 Plymouth. Most of the ride I spent sleeping in the large back seat of the sedan. My head began to nod as we drove past the undulating green waves

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The Wilder Store Bench

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I lived in a neighborhood where the corner market was the place that you came in contact with other people from the neighborhood. It was a place where everyone knew each other, not only by name, but they knew your kid's name, their mother's and

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