Memories of Aloha Stadium
I’m sitting here looking at the aloha stadium in the distance from a deck on a halawa hillside. So many memories are flooding my mind about all of the experiences that I’ve had there. From going to the swap meet, to the EK Fernandez fairs, and the countless games that I’ve watched. I sit wondering about what my most fond memory is of this fortress of nostalgia that won’t be here for too much longer. And the memories that I hold dearest are of those between the ages of 10 and 12. My uncle Blane was the head coach for an ILH football team and my papa, dad and uncles filled the rest of the coaching staff. For 7 years of my life a huge portion of my life consisted of football, in addition to it always being a part of my life long before and long after. I come from a football family so it was just always around. On either a Friday or Saturday nights (sometimes both) from the months of September through November we would go to the aloha stadium every weekend to watch the games. I remember entering the gates and paying for parking, the start of another exciting night with my Ohana. After parking, we’d always check which side our team was on—mauka or makai. During earlier games you wanted to be on the makai so the sun wasn’t directly in your face. Once confirmed, we’d park at the gate and haul out about nine frozen Meadow Gold juice cartons for my dad’s players. These had been in the freezer since morning to ensure they were ice-cold for the team after the game.
Before heading to the box office to purchase our tickets, we’d stop for the newspapers sold by kids outside. Each paper had all the school rosters, and we always bought two—one for keeping track of the players and the other for confetti. Then, we’d go through the turnstile gate, where the babies in our group would duck under instead of spinning through.
As we walked, I’d immediately want to grab food, but Mom always made sure we went to our seats first so that we could say hi to my grandma and other family members that were there Since my family made up most of the coaching staff there were always a lot of us at the games. On dry days, we’d sit in the bottom orange section, in the last four rows near the end zone. On rainy nights, we moved up to the top of the blue section.
The moment I stepped into the stadium, a rush of excitement hit me. After locating our family and exchanging kisses and hellos, we’d head to the concession stand. Over the years, the concessions changed, but during this time in my life, they had S&S Saimin, hot dogs, nachos, pizza, popcorn, and soft pretzels. The drinks were all soft drinks—I don’t recall bottled water even being an option. For dessert, Haagen-Dazs bars were the only thing I remember them having, but that could be just because that was my favorite; churros weren’t around yet. We always brought in outside food as well—it was allowed back then. There were no bag checks, and even umbrellas were permitted. My mom always packed thermoses of hot chocolate, my absolute favorite.
On the way back to our seats, we’d walk through the tunnel lined with giant murals of Hawaii sports history. And there was always this excitement that I felt walking through those tunnels. You’d be hit by the stadium lights before the yellow and red from the bleachers at the top. Then finally you’d see the field and the beautiful stadium in its entirety. Back at our seats to eat… Every game, without fail, one of my baby cousins would stand on a chair, lose balance, and slip between the slats, getting stuck. The rescue was always the same—someone in the row above would grab their arm and pull them back up. There would also always be a spilled drink, sending the row below scrambling to lift their belongings before the liquid reached them.
Once we finished our food, we’d rush down to the first row, waiting for the team to come out so I could say hi to my dad, who was the receivers' coach. Then, my cousins and I—about ten of us—would find seats right in front of the cheerleaders. I knew every single cheer, every move, and every dance to the songs played by the band. None of us paid much attention to the game; instead, we danced and sang along with the cheerleaders and shredded newspaper and stuffed it into plastic bags, ready to throw in the air whenever our team scored. We took our cues from the cheerleaders and the crowd.
Halftime meant bathroom time. Despite the many stalls, the lines were always long. After consuming so much soda, I’d stand there, bladder about to burst, waiting my turn. Before the stadium got those big circular sinks and air dryers, I remember using regular sinks and brown paper towels, which always overflowed from the trash cans.
The second half played out much like the first, but if we knew we were going to win, we’d save all our confetti for the end. After the game, we’d rush down to find my dad, hand him the juice, and give him and my uncles a kiss before heading back up to our family.
After the game, we always ran into people my grandma them knew, which meant a long conversation, giving us kids a chance to climb the huge vertical beam it was the best challenge ever because we’d all take a beam and race to see who could go highest, until we got scolded. I swear I don’t think any of us made past the height of our own heights. When we got caught and couldn’t climb anymore I’d just sit at the base of the beams, a common seating area. I always admired the massive circular ramp leading to the higher levels. Despite going to countless games, I could count on one hand how many times I actually walked up that ramp.
If we needed to get downstairs to our car, we’d take the long escalator under the stands. If it was broken, we had to walk down the steel flights of stairs, which always triggered my intrusive thoughts—I’d picture the entire stadium crumbling down on me. It was even worse if a game was going on and fans stomped their feet, creating a deep, unsettling rumble.
Back in the car, exhaustion set in. My sister and I would almost always fall asleep, knowing we still had to pick up my dad from school before finally heading home. Over the years, the stadium underwent many changes, but my memories from ages 9 to 12 remain the best. Those nights at Aloha Stadium weren’t just about football; they were about family, tradition, and the magic of growing up in a place where every game felt like a celebration. It makes me sad that that experience is to only be a memory now.
