Laho is not a good word.
April 14, 2012
My youngest daughter dabbled with the Hawaiian language while we were away, with the words used most being ‘greetings’ and ‘thank you’, respectively, ‘aloha’ and ‘mahalo’. In her bid to display this newly acquired knowledge, she would often say ‘ma laho’. The word ‘laho’ in Niuean means ‘penis’.
Communicating effectively involves dialogue that is understood as intended by the parties involved. I came to the realisation during our holidays and for the greater part of this time that we communicated very well with people outside the sphere of our immediate family.
Technology has made this so easy and convenient that it’s actually quite intrusive.
One night while I was enjoying this succulent lobster that had survived the dangers in the sea only to land on my plate coated with the most beautiful garnish and juices, I noticed my other half texting, and my older children either playing games or updating their Facebook posts. My youngest daughter and I were actually the only one’s savoring the moment. She of course by this stage had gotten past the male anatomy and was greeting people correctly.
I’m not sure if I would have survived the impending kick in the ass, slap across the face or other physical or verbal abuse I would have struck if I did the same thing 30 or 40 years ago at the dinner table. Back then you simply came to the table, ate your meal and your attention was only with those around you. You interjected politely with conversation or spoke only when spoken to. It was a brief moment in the day to edify your family bond.
I miss those days.
Oh enough rambling, good morning sweet iPad, let me wrap you back up snugly while I catch up on some lost sleep.
Technology has made this so easy and convenient that it’s actually quite intrusive.
One night while I was enjoying this succulent lobster that had survived the dangers in the sea only to land on my plate coated with the most beautiful garnish and juices, I noticed my other half texting, and my older children either playing games or updating their Facebook posts. My youngest daughter and I were actually the only one’s savoring the moment. She of course by this stage had gotten past the male anatomy and was greeting people correctly.
I’m not sure if I would have survived the impending kick in the ass, slap across the face or other physical or verbal abuse I would have struck if I did the same thing 30 or 40 years ago at the dinner table. Back then you simply came to the table, ate your meal and your attention was only with those around you. You interjected politely with conversation or spoke only when spoken to. It was a brief moment in the day to edify your family bond.
I miss those days.
Oh enough rambling, good morning sweet iPad, let me wrap you back up snugly while I catch up on some lost sleep.
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