The first time I went to Hawaii, I was only eight (ish) years old. My dad's mother, Nana, took my entire family and we stayed in a house on Oahu that was right on the beach. I was little, so I don't recall some big details like whose house it was, how we knew them, etc. What I remember is that when we were at the dinner table Mindy jumped up suddenly with a gecko on her leg, I had a cockroach crawling on my leg when I was sitting on the couch, and that they told us they usually just vacuum up the geckos to get rid of them. I actually remember the gal standing in the bedroom telling that to me, Mom and Mindy. I remember going to Sea World and standing next to the person in a killer whale outfit, and I remember going to the Polynesian show and refusing to try poi.
Purple mush breaks just about every rule in my book.
It's funny the little things I remember from that trip, but none of it is quite as funny as my brother in the gift shop.
My brother was five years older than me, and at 13 he was a "typical boy." My mom somehow managed to capture a photo with the back of his head in the foreground, and a rack of postcards in the background. And the photos were pretty typical of Hawaii, in that they were half-naked women.
We never let him live that down; it was too classic.