My sister and I were very confused. Our family always went places together. This was beyond mystifying. We pestered them with questions.
Where is Hawaii?
How are you going to get there?
How long are you going to be gone?
And most importantly,
Why can't we go, too?
Our parents patiently answered every one.
Hawaii is in the middle of the ocean, on the other side of California.
We are going on an airplane.
And then they told the world's greatest whopper.
We're going to go by ourselves first, to make sure Hawaii is fun for kids.
Well, that makes total sense, we agreed contentedly. As children who'd been subjected to many adult-oriented Washington dinner parties and boring work events, we knew all about stuff that was no fun for kids. Mom and Dad were doing us a favor by leaving us behind. We cheerfully waved good-bye and waited for their report.
We stared at them in awe.
Then, they opened up the luggage, and gave each of us a giant lei made entirely of candy bars.
Awe turned to skeptical disbelief*.
Hawaii seems like A LOT of fun for kids.
Our suspicions were well founded. My parents never did take us there**. But when I finally got to go as a grown up, one of the best things about the trip was indeed having pineapple for breakfast every single morning.
It is spectacularly delicious.