"Do not tell me that it's a ho'ailona (sign or omen)," my husband grimaced, clutching the ball of his right foot.

The large toe had swelled to double its size. Black and blue marks began to form around the cuticle, making the toe look even more deformed.

I leaned over to inspect the injury.

"I wasn't planning on saying that," I said, gently prodding the wound.

"Stop that!" he yelped. "Can't you see I'm in a lot of pain?"

My husband often accuses me of being overly optimistic.

Just minutes before he stubbed his toe, I had suggested he put on a pair of toe-covering Crocs before tromping through our lower yard.

He ignored my advice and sloshed through the mud barefoot, slamming his toe into a large rock.

"Look," I said. "It could have been worse. Your toe could have been broken."

"Yeah, Dad," my 12-year-old chimed in as he pushed open the screen door. "The lesson here is to listen to Mom!"

I'm always offering advice to my keiki. They often ignore my suggestions and instead choose another path.

And although I know that the path they chose has a lot of bumps, I try to be supportive and optimistic about the decision they've made.

Eventually, through trial and error, they return to what I had originally suggested with a "Yeah, Mom, you were right."

There is an 'olelo no'eau that goes like this:

Lalau aku 'oe i ka 'ulu i ka wekiu, i ke alo no ka 'ulu, a hala.

Translated, it says: You reach for the breadfruit far away at the top and miss the one right in front of you.

The mo'olelo or story behind this wise saying is that Kalakaua at one time promised a position in his court to Kama'iopili, a man from Maui.

But Kalakaua forgot his promise.

One day, Kalakaua and Kama'iopili were playing billiards.

Kama'iopili intentionally played poorly and exclaimed, "I ke alo no ka 'ulu, a hala" whenever he missed the cue ball.

Kalakaua thought the remark odd, and after the game had ended, asked one of his advisers what it meant.

He was told that Kama'iopili was reminding the king that others had been awarded positions in his court. But the man standing right in front of the king had all but been forgotten.

NOTE TO READERS:

Having the opportunity to write this column for the past six years was like reaching up to pluck a firm but ripe 'ulu from the tree.

But now other breadfruits have matured, and it's time for those to be harvested.

Mahalo to all my devoted readers — kupuna, makua and 'ohana alike.

Mahalo to Auntie Mary Kawena Pukui, whose words of wisdom brought inspiration.

And I'd like to acknowledge my 'ohana, who are immensely relieved that this is my final column.

"Yeah, Mom," my 16-year-old said. "Now my coaches won't say, 'Hey, I read about you in the Sunday paper!' "

It has been a great honor to be able to write about my culture through family experiences and mo'olelo. I hope my readers will stay in touch at kaohua@hawaii.rr.com.