When fear strikes, let the aloha spirit be your guide: Nanea’s story
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In dark times, good
deeds shine brighter
In The Spirit of Aloha, Nanea’s world is turned upside down when Japan attacks Pearl Harbor, officially bringing the U.S. into World War Two. Nanea worries the people she loves will soon be leaving the island. To cope with her sadness, she finds opportunities to perform kokua (“good deeds”) for those in need.
Sunlight slivered through the blinds. Nanea Mitchell stretched, breathing in the sweet outside smells of ginger and plumeria and the savory inside smells of breakfast. Sausage! Mele thumped her tail in anticipation.
“Good morning, you silly poi dog,” Nanea said, giving Mele a pat. She hopped out of bed and turned the wall calendar from October to November 1941. It was Saturday, so Nanea dressed for hula lessons, putting on a sleeveless blouse and a pair of shorts.
Her fifteen-year-old sister, Mary Lou, yawned, loosening her braids as she slid out of her bed across the room. She walked to the vanity, shaking her dark waves over her shoulders, and clicked on her little Admiral radio.
“Your hair looks nice,” Nanea said.
Mary Lou picked up her hairbrush and turned to Nanea. “Let me fix yours.”
“It’s fine!” Nanea leaped out of reach.
“Alice Nanea Mitchell!” Mary Lou scolded, using Nanea’s full name. “Sometimes you are so childish.”
“Not today.” Nanea picked up her ‘eke hula, a basket for carrying costumes and implements. “See? I’m all ready for hula class.”
Nanea had both sets of wooden dancing sticks. The kala‘au were the size of a ruler; when she hit them together, they made a tick-tick sound like the big clock in her third-grade classroom. The longer pu‘ili made a happy noise that reminded Nanea of the cash register at Pono’s Market, her grandparents’ store.
That reminded her of something else. “Why can’t I go to work with you after class today?” she asked. “Tutu says I’m a big help.”
“Tutu spoils you,” Mary Lou answered, fluffing her hair, “because you’re the baby of the family.”
Nanea knew that their grandmother did not spoil her, and that she was not a baby. But before she could say anything to Mary Lou, their brother David ducked his head into the girls’ bedroom, sending in a wave of Old Spice aftershave.
Nanea noticed the ukulele case in his hand. “You playing today?” she asked.
Seventeen-year-old David worked as a bellboy at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, but sometimes he filled in when one of the musicians was sick, or surfing.
“Maybe,” he said. “I’m a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.” When her big brother smiled, Nanea thought he was as handsome as any movie star. “Breakfast is ready. Come on.”
The girls followed him to the kitchen.
“Good morning!” Nanea said, kissing Papa’s cheek. His hair was wet from the shower.
“More like good night for me,” Papa replied. He worked the graveyard shift, so he went to bed after breakfast, which was really his dinner. “Do you like my aftershave?” Papa grinned. “Instead of Old Spice, it’s Old Fuel.”
Nanea had heard that joke a million times, but she laughed anyway. Nothing washed away the smell of oil that Papa got from working as a welder at the Pearl Harbor shipyard. There were so many ships. And planes, too, at Hickam Field next to the shipyard. David said because Pearl Harbor was a big deal in the Pacific, Papa was a big deal in the Pacific. That always made Papa laugh.
Nanea turned to her mother. “Why can’t I work at Pono’s Market? I’m nearly ten.”
Mom tucked a stray lock of hair behind Nanea’s ear. “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”
“Yeah, Monkey.” David waved his fork. “Enjoy being a kid as long as you can.”
“I would love to be nine again,” Mary Lou said. “No responsibilities.”
Nanea frowned. She had plenty of responsibilities! She took care of Mele and set the table and always turned in her homework on time. But Nanea wanted grown-up responsibilities, like working at the market.
“Is that a storm cloud on someone’s face?” Papa teased Nanea.
She leaned her head against her father’s. His hair was carrot-red and hers was brown; he had blue eyes, she had hazel. The Mitchell kids were all born on Oahu like Mom. Papa had been born in Beaverton, Oregon, far away. He grew up on a farm, not in a city like Honolulu. Despite those differences, Nanea and Papa were very much alike. They loved many of the same things: the funnies, fishing, and dogs—especially Mele. Nanea wrapped her arms around Papa’s neck and squeezed two times. That was their secret code for “Buddies forever.”
She sat down and poured a glass of fresh pineapple juice. “Being the youngest doesn’t mean I can’t do grown-up things,” Nanea complained. She wondered why her ‘ohana, her family, never gave her the chance to prove it.
Papa smiled. “I remember chomping at the bit to drive the tractor on Grandpop Mitchell’s farm. It was so hard to wait until I was thirteen.”
“And your grandfather said I had to learn the times tables before I could run the cash register.” Mom poured herself more coffee. “It took a lot of flash cards before I rang up that first sale.”
“Tutu Kane said you were nine,” Nanea said between bites of egg. “My age.”
Papa pretended to cast a line. “I hear the fish are biting,” he said. “Maybe later you could round up the other two Kittens to catch us some supper.” He called Nanea and her two best friends, Lily Suda and Donna Hill, the Three Kittens after the nursery rhyme. “Some fresh fish would be so ‘ono, delicious.” Papa waggled his eyebrows, and Nanea had to laugh. When Papa said Hawaiian words, he sounded like a newcomer even though he’d lived on Oahu for years.
“Look at the time!” Mom said. “You girls better scoot to hula class!”
Outside, Mary Lou’s rubber slippers slapped against the sidewalk while Nanea’s bare feet made soft pat-pat-pat sounds. Mele ran behind them. She had come to hula lessons since the day Nanea had started when she was four years old.
At Tutu’s, Nanea greeted her grandmother in the traditional way, pressing foreheads and noses together and taking a deep breath. This was the ha part of aloha, the breath. The other part, alo, meant to share, to be close. Tutu had taught Nanea that this meant they were breathing each other’s essence.
Nanea turned her cheek to catch the regular kiss that would follow. Then she skipped off to join Mary Lou and the other dancers lined up outside the lanai. The covered porch at the back of the house was Tutu’s hula studio.
When Tutu pulled out the ipu, gourd drum, everyone quieted. Nanea gathered her thoughts, focusing her heart and her mind on the lesson to come.
“Makaukau?” Tutu began every class by asking the dancers if they were ready.
“Ae,” the girls answered. Yes.
With Tutu marking time on the ipu, the dancers warmed up by practicing all their basic hula steps.
“Very nice,” Tutu said. She set the drum aside and put a record on the phonograph. As “Lovely Hula Hands” began to play, the dancers Nanea’s age formed their lines and began the hula they would perform for the United Service Organization programs. Tutu’s students had been regular USO performers for many years.
Next the older girls danced. Nanea hoped she would someday be good enough to dance a solo, like the one Mary Lou was practicing. Nanea thought her sister was doing the steps perfectly, but in the middle of the song, Tutu lifted the needle from the record.
“Noelani,” she began, calling Mary Lou by her Hawaiian middle name, “you must remember to keep your fingers soft and your back straight.” As she placed the needle back on the record, Tutu spoke to all the dancers. “There is no shame in a mistake. There is only shame in not learning from it.”
Tutu’s corrections never sounded like scoldings. She was a kumu hula, a master teacher who had been teaching for many years, just as her mother had taught before her.
Nanea held her head high, honored to carry on the hula tradition that had been part of her family for generations.
***
After class, Nanea and Mary Lou sat on the front porch with Tutu, waiting for David. It wasn’t long before he arrived to give Tutu and Mary Lou a ride to Pono’s Market.
“See you later, sis,” Mary Lou said.
Tutu smoothed the skirt of her mu‘umu‘u and gave Nanea a kiss good-bye. “Aloha, keiki,” she said. “You did well in class today.”
Nanea watched Mary Lou climb into the backseat while David held the passenger door open for Tutu. With a wave, David drove off, and Nanea turned and headed the other way, toward home.
If only Nanea was going to the store, too! She would sort all the penny candy into the right jars while Tutu Kane talked with the customers. Nanea would tidy the colorful displays of produce and dust the shelves of canned goods. She would straighten the bolts of fabric. She’d open the doors for the neighborhood aunties—the older women she’d known her whole life—as they left with their shopping bags bulging with purchases that Tutu had rung up. “Mary Lou would see I’m not a baby anymore,” Nanea told Mele as they walked home. “If only I could help.”
Mele wagged her tail in agreement.
Nanea arrived home just as Mom was taking a batch of guava bread out of the oven. When there was a knock at the door, Mele sang a greeting. A-roo! Aroo! Her name meant “song.”
Donna and Lily were at the door. “E komo mai, welcome!” Nanea called to the other two Kittens. “Or should I say, e komo meow?”
Lily Suda made a small bow. She was Nanea’s oldest friend, and the Mitchells and Sudas were like family. Nanea called Lily’s parents Uncle Fudge and Aunt Betty, and Lily called Nanea’s parents Uncle Richard and Aunt May. The families lived on the same street, often shared meals, and celebrated holidays together. Nanea and Lily had gone out many times with Uncle Fudge on his sampan, a Japanese fishing boat, to help him catch ‘ahi and other fish to sell. Aunt Betty taught the girls how to fold origami geckos and koi and cranes.
That was one of the best things about living in Hawaii. The islands were like a jigsaw puzzle where people of all different shapes and colors fit together. There were people from Japan, like Aunt Betty and Uncle Fudge, and from Portugal, like their mailman Mr. Cruz, and from China, like Mrs. Lin, who had a tiny crack seed shop where she sold dried fruits. And of course there were haoles, like Papa and Donna’s family, who came from all over the mainland.
Behind Lily, Donna chomped on her bubble gum. Donna’s family had moved from San Francisco three years earlier so her father could work in the Pearl Harbor shipyard, like Papa. Donna had walked up to Nanea and Lily in first grade and said, “Hi! What are your names?” After school, Donna had given them each a piece of bubble gum, and that was the beginning of the Three Kittens.
When her family first arrived in Honolulu, Donna had been reluctant to try any new foods. But she soon learned to love Aunt Betty’s sweet rice mochi, Portuguese malasada doughnuts, and especially Mom’s guava bread.
Now Donna stopped chewing her gum. “Do I smell guava bread?” she asked.
Mom laughed. “I baked two loaves in case some hungry Kittens wandered by.” She cut three thick slices while Donna threw away her gum.
The girls took the bread out on the porch so that they wouldn’t wake Nanea’s father, who was still sleeping.
“How was hula class?” Lily asked. She couldn’t take Saturday morning lessons with Tutu because that’s when she had Japanese language class. But Lily liked dancing as much as Nanea did. Donna had tried taking hula lessons, but she decided she wasn’t much of a dancer.
“It was fun,” Nanea answered. “Tutu started to teach us a new dance to perform at the USO Christmas show next month.” Then Nanea looked at Donna. “What do you have there?”
Donna lifted her arm and a newspaper slid out.
Nanea caught it before it fell in the dirt. “Isn’t this your dad’s?” Nanea had never met anyone who was so interested in the news. Mr. Hill was always talking to Papa about the war in Europe.
Donna took another bite of bread. “He saw something we’d be interested in.”
“What?” Lily asked.
Donna shrugged. “He said we’d find it.”
Nanea opened the paper, skimming headlines about battles in Germany and Russia.
“It seems like everybody’s in the war except America,” Lily said.
“Skip those war stories,” Donna said. “They don’t have anything to do with us here on Oahu.”
Nanea pressed her finger to the paper. “A contest!”
“The Honolulu Helping Hands Contest,” read Lily.
“That must be what Dad meant,” Donna said.
“The grand prize is a brand-new Schwinn bike,” Nanea added.
Donna whistled. “That is interesting.”
“What are the rules?” Lily asked.
“We have to do these four things by December fifteenth to win the bike,” Nanea explained, pointing to the list.
“Enter to win, you mean,” said Lily.
Donna counted on her fingers. “That’s a month and a half from now. We’d have to check off one thing about every two weeks.”
Lily leaned over Nanea’s shoulder. “The first one’s a snap: Do a good deed for a stranger. But look at the second one: Show appreciation for your family.” She made a face. “That means I’d have to do something nice for Tommy.” Even Nanea had to admit that Lily’s five-year-old brother was a handful.
“How can a kid make a difference in the community?” Donna asked, reading the third requirement.
“What about that last task: Turn trouble into triumph?” Lily said. “I don’t know what that means.”
Nanea thought about one of her troubles. Her family always treated her like a baby. How could she turn that into a triumph?
Donna shook her head. “This seems too hard.”
“I agree,” Lily said. “Even if you did everything, you might not win the bike.”
Nanea pictured herself looking so grown-up on a shiny new bike. Wait a minute! Nanea thought, jumping up. Doing everything for the contest and winning that bike would surely prove that she wasn’t a baby!
“I’ll be right back.” Nanea ran inside, quickly returning with a piece of paper and a pencil.
“What are you doing?” Lily asked.
“I’m copying down the rules.” Nanea smiled. “I’m going to enter this contest. And I’m going to win!”
Taking steps
toward healing
As Hula for the Home Front begins, Nanea faces constant reminders of the war—from gas masks and ID cards to curfews and nightly blackouts. Worst of all, her brother won’t stop talking about joining the Army. In the swirl of changes, Nanea turns to hula. Dancing fills her with hope, and she soon discovers its healing power for others.
Nanea Mitchell lay in bed, pretending to sleep, while her big sister, Mary Lou, got ready. School was finally in session again after the Pearl Harbor attacks, and Mary Lou was going early to hang up “Welcome Back” banners at McKinley High.
After she finished her hair, Mary Lou grabbed the knitting bag she carried everywhere these days. She tiptoed out of their shared room as if she thought Nanea was asleep.
Nanea shifted, hugging her knees to her chest. She’d hardly slept the night before. It was finally February second, and until a few days ago, she had been so eager for this morning to come. Going back to school meant forgetting about blackouts and curfews and air-raid drills. Sitting in Miss Smith’s classroom at Lunalilo Elementary, Nanea would be surrounded by friends and would get lost in spelling bees and flash cards and her teacher’s lively stories. It was going to be wonderful.
But then everything changed. The Three Kittens—Nanea and her two best friends, Lily Suda and Donna Hill—were split apart. The military government had been in charge since the attack on Pearl Harbor, and it decided people like Donna and her mom were “nonessential civilians.” They weren’t directly helping the war effort, so they had to leave the island. Last Friday, Nanea and Lily had gone to the pier to say a final good-bye to Donna and her mother before they sailed off to San Francisco.
Nanea sighed heavily. Her dog, Mele, who had been sleeping on the floor next to her bed, stood on her hind legs to peer over the edge of the mattress. Nanea pulled back her quilt and patted the bed. Mele hopped up and snuggled against Nanea’s side.
Nanea held her close, breathing in her doggy smell. Mele had gone missing after the attacks, and for two long weeks, Nanea had searched high and low for her. Since they’d been reunited, Mele didn’t like to let Nanea out of her sight. That was just fine with Nanea.
“I couldn’t stand to lose you again,” Nanea said, giving the dog a squeeze as she remembered that awful time. Mele shifted, and a newspaper clipping fell from the nightstand onto the bed. It was from yesterday’s paper.
Nanea picked it up and studied the picture of herself with Lily and Donna and a group of their friends. Her family was so proud of Nanea for organizing a bottle drive for the Red Cross. The girls had collected over a thousand bottles so far. They’d had their picture taken for the newspaper, and Nanea had even been interviewed by Miss Gwenfread Allen, a real reporter.
Nanea had smiled big for the newspaper photo, which had been taken the day before Donna left. Now when she looked at the picture, Nanea couldn’t think about the bottle drive. She could only think of how much she missed Donna. Mele thumped her tail on the bed.
“Okay, I’ll read it to you again,” Nanea said.
I recently had the pleasure of conversing with Miss Alice Nanea Mitchell—who goes by her Hawaiian name, Nanea—a poised and thoughtful young lady. Though Nanea was shy about taking credit, her friends assured me that she was the brains behind the highly successful bottle drive to benefit the Red Cross blood center. She says she was inspired by her brother’s work in the hospital in the days after the attacks, when he delivered bottles of blood to those in critical need. When she learned that Honolulu was long on blood donors but short on bottles, Nanea sprang to action.
Despite her accomplishments, this young lady confesses to losing sleep most nights. Each time she heads to her family’s air-raid shelter, she wonders if it’s the real McCoy. She and her friends long for the return of their carefree island days. Days filled with jacks and jump rope and bike rides to the beach. Days where one’s biggest concern was what flavor shave ice to order. While the war has required that we all make sacrifices, those paying the dearest price are our children.
Miss Allen’s last words reminded Nanea again of how much she had given up, including one of her best friends. How could she go to school without Donna? She wished Papa were home so she could talk to him. He always made her feel better. But he was working another double shift at the Pearl Harbor shipyard.
Mele licked Nanea’s face.
“I know. It’s time to get up.” Nanea placed the newspaper clipping back on her nightstand and dragged herself out of bed. She pulled on a school dress. It was red with blue trim. Blue was Donna’s favorite color. Nanea sat back down on her bed, thinking about Donna.
Nanea’s seventeen-year-old brother, David, stuck his head through the doorway. “Breakfast is about ready,” he announced. Then he looked at Nanea’s face. “What’s up, Monkey?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Nanea answered, even though she did know. She was afraid if she told David, she’d start crying. And if she started, she might not stop!
David stepped into the room. “Shove over,” he said.
Nanea made room for him on the edge of the mattress.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But does it have something to do with that?” He pointed at the article.
“I know it’s an honor to be in the paper,” Nanea started. Papa was so proud that he’d sent a copy of the article to Nanea’s grandparents in Oregon.
“But?” David prompted.
“But it’s like Miss Allen said. Too many things have changed.” Nanea thought about how her island life used to be full of picnics at the beach, fishing with Papa, and playing outside in the long evening shadows. Now there was war. She couldn’t stop the tear that trickled down her cheek. “The beaches are blocked by barbed wire. Papa’s working all the time so we never go fishing anymore. We all have to sit in the dark night after night during the blackouts. One of my best friends is gone, and the other one . . .” Nanea’s voice trailed off.
“What?” David asked.
Nanea leaned against David’s strong shoulder, breathing in his familiar smell of Old Spice. “Lily and I were walking home from Mrs. Lin’s crack seed shop yesterday when someone yelled something not very nice at Lily—”
“—because she’s Japanese.” David finished Nanea’s sentence for her.
Nanea nodded. “There are too many problems. And all of them are too big.”
David’s shirt was damp with Nanea’s tears. “Monkey, I wish I could say that everything will get better soon. But nobody knows when this war will end.” He tapped her gently on the arm. “There is one thing I can tell you for sure.”
Nanea tipped her head up to look into David’s face. “What?” she asked, doubtfully. Her brother’s Hawaiian name was Kekoa, which meant brave and strong. But not even David was strong enough to make the war stop.
“You don’t have to face this alone. Your ‘ohana, your family, is here with you,” he said. Then he picked up the small lauhala basket full of barrettes that Nanea kept on the dresser. “Think about this basket. One hala leaf is woven with another and another. Together, the leaves create something strong and sturdy. Just like our ‘ohana.”
Nanea reached for the basket and turned it around in her hands, thinking about how her mom and dad, brother and sister, and grandparents were part of the weaving of her life.
“We all have to work together to win this war.” David stood up. “The more everyone helps, the sooner things can get back to normal. I can tell you one more thing for certain.”
Nanea returned the basket to the dresser. “What?”
“Mom is going to fuss if we aren’t at the breakfast table right away.” He smiled his movie-star smile at her, tapping the door frame as he left the room.
Nanea clipped a barrette in her hair. “I guess I could manage a little something for breakfast,” she said to Mele. “And I know you can always eat.” She picked up her dog and cuddled her close. Nanea tried not to miss Donna, but it was impossible. Her friend was as much a part of the weaving of her life as Mele was.
Guidance for girls today
Through connection, tolerance, and kindness, Nanea showcases how every girl can overcome loss and inspire others to carry on:
A spirit of togetherness. Nanea follows the concept of aloha—the idea that everyone is connected—to help bring her community together after the war begins.
Celebrating diversity. Even though suspicion rises about those of Japanese descent on the island, Nanea is loyal to her friends and defends their patriotism.
Showing compassion. When misunderstandings arise with a new classmate, Nanea decides to reach out and learn both sides of the story.
“We were all asked to critique for language, culture, dates, dress, personal names, and if this is what a girl of Nanea’s age would have done during the 1940s in Hawaii. I came away with a deep appreciation that American Girl has for ‘getting it right’ for the history and for the culture.”
“We were all asked to critique for language, culture, dates, dress, personal names, and if this is what a girl of Nanea’s age would have done during the 1940s in Hawaii. I came away with a deep appreciation that American Girl has for ‘getting it right’ for the history and for the culture.”
—Dorinda Makanaonalani Nicholson, Nanea advisory board member, Hawaii native, hula expert, and eyewitness to the bombing of Pearl Harbor
Authentic from the start
The history and culture of Hawaii are unlike anywhere else in America. That’s why seeking out experts—from leading authorities on textiles to master hula dancers to someone who was actually present at the Pearl Harbor attack—was so important to the development of Nanea’s story.
The advisory board offered a wealth of information to Kirby Larson, author of the Nanea series, who consulted them on language, heritage, dress, and more. Kirby added her own research gleaned from reading wartime issues of Honolulu newspapers, digging through library archives, and poring over old photographs and maps.
Much of Hawaii’s history is shared through storytelling. “Talking story” is a favorite way islanders keep their past alive, and how our team of advisors helped bring Nanea’s world to life as well.
The attack on Pearl Harbor occurred near Nanea’s home, on the southwest side of Oahu.
In the spirit of kokua ("good deeds"), Hawaiian families like Nanea's would make meals to support aid workers on the island.
Before television became widespread, radio was the main source for breaking news on the islands.
Putting it all into play
To prevent enemy nations from stealing U.S. currency during the war, all money on the islands was printed with “Hawaii” on one side.
Primarily worn on formal occasions, this holoku dress features the same floral patterns and flowing design in Nanea’s time as it did upon its inception in the 1820s.
The Japanese influence on the islands is shown by the popularity of shave ice, which is similar to a snow-and-berry treat from the Far East.
To capture a special moment, Nanea would use this Kodak™ camera that includes the signature Art Deco styling on the front.
With multiple ethnicities present on Hawaii, the food culture on the island is quite diverse, as represented in Nanea’s luau set.
Explore more of Nanea's world
Fabulous historical teaching
We are so pleased with the craftsmanship and thought that went into this doll. The stories are fantastic and show this period in a thoughtful, meaningful way. The Hawaiian spirit really shines through!
American Girl Customer
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