When I was in elementary school, I lived and went to school in a small surf town on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. My little sister and little brother also went to Haleiwa Elementary School. The majority of kids and teachers at school with were locals, mainly of Hawaiian, Polynesian, and Asian ancestry. They spoke English, but in a strange, broken sounding dialect of Pidgin. During the first few weeks of school I could barely understand a word that was spoken to me! A lot of kids made fun of the three little Abbeys for our white skin and our “Haole talk.” At first we tried to ignore it, but I realized we had to adapt after the first day we rode the bus home.
Our house was only a few miles from the school, and so, Mama decided, a bus ride would be a quick alternative to her loading up the babies and making the trek into town. After all of the necessary paper work was filled out and teachers were notified that we should be dismissed with the bus riders, the day of the first bus ride arrived. Timidly, I walked onto the bus, followed closely by Hannah and Paul. The three of us shared a front seat close to the bus driver and began what would turn into a very long journey. Instead of stopping and letting us off in front of our long and somewhat hidden driveway, the bus rumbled on by and started up the mountain. Too scared to say anything and get teased for my Haole accent, I rationalized that the bus driver would stop by on the way back past our house. Two hours later, a panicked Mama picked us up outside of Haleiwa Elementary School.
The next day, Mama made us try again. Small but proud, I was determined to get Hannah, Paul, and myself home safely this time. Blonde head held high, I marched them up the rubber steps and back to our seat. Once three backpacks were smooshed under two pairs of rubber sandals, I strode up to the bus driver, stuck my hands into the pockets of my cut offs, and took a deep breath. I knew the time had come to use the language I had practiced in my head during the school day. With all the courage I could muster, I loudly asked the bus driver, “Dis bus go Waimea?” To my great surprise and delight, he responded “Yeah, gurlh, you do tell me wen ya house come,” and I knew that I had made myself understood. To this day, whenever we talk about Haleiwa Elementary School, Hannah and Paul, and I confess, I too, cannot help but remember with shrieking laughter the story of the White Girl and the Bus.
