Growing Up Waiawa

Waiawa town, just off the H-1 on the edge of Pearl City before heading west into Waipahu on the Island of Oahu, is a place very dear to my ohana and ground zero for the art of Derobio Eskrima. I can still remember the drive into the cul-de-sac passing Leeward Community College and coming onto the first house that was somewhat of a gatekeeper. This home was my grandparents home known by those who loved them as Mama and Pops Riddle. Mama, is my mom’s mom and daughter of Great Grandmaster Braulio Pedoy. Their home shared a carport with Tutu Gray which led to the Quonset hut that we used to live in next-door to Great Grandmaster Braulio Pedoy and Grandma Bartolomia Pedoy; my great grandparents. These were the days when I had a baby bottle in one hand and a garrote in the other. My mom catching me sucking on the garrote rather than drinking my milk.  Days when cousins weren’t so distant and family were always around. Home is where the heart is and Waiawa will always have a place in my heart.

Growing up in Waiawa was what one would expect being a kid in Hawaii was like. My brothers and I were always outside playing. Trekking down to the stream and gulch to catch crawfish. Riding around on our bikes that were put together from different parts we could find. Playing all day long in a clubhouse built from scrap we found around the neighborhood. For a time, Pops Riddle had a farm and we would feed the goats and chickens. As for GGM Pedoy, he raised some prize winning Cockfighting chickens that he kept under his house. I can still smell the rich dark brown soil that lined the ground and feel how soft it was in between my toes as I walked around barefoot. Grandpa Pedoy would have us clean out the coops but made sure we were never around the chickens alone and as much as I wanted to, he wouldn’t let us play around with the knives he would attach to their feet. I remember thinking how cool those were. These fighting chickens were very temperamental and you needed to always be alert around them.  Going to the cockfights were always a treat too.  I was never too involved with the fighting but always made sure I had some cash for the Manapua Truck so I could get some rice cakes and pork hash. Grandpa Pedoy had an uncanny control over his chickens as he did with many things of nature. He had this way about animals and growing plants and herbs around the house. There was one time when a bee hive that had grown on the plumeria tree just in front of the house got a bit too active. I’m sure one of my brother’s may have had a role in getting the bees all angry. No one could get close to the tree or even make way to the front porch. I remember Grandpa praying and then walking straight to the tree, cutting down the hive and walking it across the street taking the hive away without getting stung. Our little compound in Waiawa was our world. The backyard that connected all the homes was a tropical jungle to a little kid like me; my brother’s and cousins took well advantage of all of it. We weren’t the only ones.

Illustration by Nonie Cruzado

Growing up and training in my family’s art of Derobio Eskrima, I would always hear about the banana patch days and the down and dirty ways of training. When my mom and her siblings used to train together and the days Batikan Eddie would force guys to fight my mom and aunt before being able to take classes. Those days were gone by the time my brothers and I would train with Grandpa Pedoy on the front porch of the Quonset hut but the essence of what once was always filled the air down in Waiawa. This is why many sought out Grandpa Pedoy and traveled to his home. Some to talk story. Some to train. Some to receive healing. All shared a meal. There was no getting out of sitting down with Grandpa Pedoy and not eating and talking story. This was the best way he could see the truth in a persons heart. With what little we had we made sure all had some of it. Grandma Pedoy always made sure you were fed and taken care of. I still have vivid memories of her feeding me with her hands as I sat on her lap. There was this game Grandpa Pedoy used to play with us every time we went over to the house. Before we would either train on the porch or go inside to eat he would hide a treat in one hand and a knife in the other. Grandpa always had this small Buck type folder in his pocket. We had to choose right or left. If we got the treat all was good; however, if we got the knife we had to block and evade the blade. He could be quite the jokester but looking back now I know he was setting a foundation for what would come later.

Practitioners of all martial arts would come from all over the islands and the mainland to see my grandfather.  Some of the Manongs that would visit were from the Moncado Church where GGM Pedoy was very much involved with.  Some were of other Filipino Martial Art styles where they would train and exchange ideas and tactics.  There were also some that wanted to test and truly see who was this “Master of Locks and Counters.”  These gentlemen always left convinced and with a lasting memory of pain.  There were times when we weren’t allowed to play and hang out when these guests came by the house but that never stopped us from strategically finding a hiding place to observe. Peeking out from our bedroom window or hiding under the house to get a glimpse of these Manongs trading blows.  These moments never felt out of the ordinary, secret or mysterious, it was just something that was.  Something that we knew was part of his life.  Never understanding just how special every meeting was and the sharing of knowledge and skill that was taking place. It was so much more than old Manongs getting together to fight.  Legends were gathering, and legacies were being formed.   Throughout the years the names I came to know that would pilgrimage to see my grandpa; Dan Inosanto, Richard Bustillo, Ben Largusa, and well before I was born his contemporaries like Floro Villabrille, Raymond Tobosa, Telesporo Subing-Subing to name a few.

It’s been a very long time since my family lived in Waiawa. The town is not the same and a chain link fence now surrounds the homes we all lived in. Not so inviting as it once was. Nevertheless, the memories made there will live in the hearts of those that had the chance to share them.