generations

  posted by andfriend, aka "B"

It's been a whirlwind month. After a seemingly endless stretch of time looking for a proper retail space, things began to jell recently. On the same day that we finally decided on a space, my father passed away which initiated a flurry of activity that required immediate attention in three separate time zones from Brooklyn to Hawaii.

Our search for a space had led us briefly to Philadelphia. Philly is the city where Mollie's father, Marvin Dash, ran Everbrite Printing Company for many years. He grew up there. One of my grandfathers also spent his childhood in Philly - coincidentally only a few miles from where Marvin lived as a child. There are so many things I like about that city, a few things that I don't like. There's always something damned interesting to discover every time we go there. But for a store and possible relocation, it wasn't in the cards right now.

Ultimately it was a matter of taste - Mollie felt that Brooklyn was/is/continues to be the optimum place to be. After burning through the ideas of Philly, Williamsburg, Carroll Gardens, Gowanus and other places we finally came back to home: our home of 6 months that is.

Red Hook fits us. Far more than Bed Stuy ever did. There's an unquantifiable something about this neighborhood that is just right. With all the other possible iterations put to bed, Red Hook became the perfect choice.

So I got the call that my father had died and as we went through the motions of doing stuff that had to be done, I got to thinking about how almost everybody in my family line are strangers in strange lands. One grandfather growing up in Philly from English and Danish parents. Then he moves to Hawaii and marries a Hawaiian woman whose first language was Hawaiian and whose parents were once subjects of a Kingdom.

My father's parents: pulling up roots in the Philipines and taking the entire family to Hawaii, looking for a better life. Toughing it out in hard conditions and losing far too many children in the process. Life was brutish and short for them.

My own parents: island folk striking out on "the mainland" in search of opportunity. Making a life in Los Angeles. A life full of experiences that they could never have imagined back on the plantation house and dirt roads of Waipahu or in the birthright home in Papakolea.

We seem to be wanderers; always a different place to be, a new thing to try.

I think of this legacy - the sacrifices these people have made along the way, the many good times and the occasional horrific situations that they had to endure. It makes me humble and proud. Proud most of all of the personal dignity, grace and honor that they have shown in the new and unfamiliar spaces they have found themselves.

For that I am thankful.