Seasons in Manana

Reading Seasons in Manana feels like stepping into a time capsule that’s equal parts nostalgic, humorous, and sobering. Delmer T. Cook, with the help of Scott P. Cook, recounts his boyhood years in Hawaii from 1971 to 1974, blending the innocence of baseball games and neighborhood adventures with the darker edges of the era, counterculture movements, racial tensions, and personal tragedy. I was both entertained by the sandlot camaraderie and shaken by how quickly those youthful days could shift into something more unsettling.

The book opens with an unforgettable anecdote: young Alan Cook smacks a home run clear over the Manana Baseball Field fence and into a swimming pool, prompting screams from startled bathers. “I was so proud that I was now a member of the hit-it-in-the-pool-club,” he recalls. That mix of pride, mischief, and childhood bravado sets the stage for the narrative’s recurring theme: baseball as both a pastime and a lens through which life in Hawaii is remembered.

But the memoir isn’t just about the game. Cook is candid about his “education as a haole,” navigating cultural differences and learning island slang, such as “you like beef’um?” a phrase he quickly learned was not about dinner but about fighting. These passages strike a balance between comic misunderstanding and the deeper lesson of being an outsider trying to fit in. His descriptions of cafeteria life serving food alongside teachers because of budget cuts, or eating sticky scoops of rice “plopping down on your tray like a small white ball held together by Elmer’s Glue,” give the narrative a tactile authenticity that’s hard not to smile at.

Where the book takes a sharper turn is in its exploration of loss and fear. Cook recalls his crush on babysitter Cindy Medlock and the chilling moment when she disappears, echoing the larger cultural anxieties of the Patty Hearst kidnapping that dominated the news in 1974. The juxtaposition of youthful longing with the trauma of her absence underscores how childhood innocence collides with harsh realities. It’s here that the memoir transcends nostalgia and becomes something more complex.

What struck me most was the honesty of Cook’s voice. He doesn’t shy away from admitting embarrassment, like the time he struck out repeatedly in P.E. while his teacher tried to guide his swing from behind: “I felt utterly emasculated and just wanted that teacher to get away from me.” These candid moments make him relatable, especially for anyone who has fumbled through adolescence trying to figure out where they belong.

Stylistically, the book reads like a long conversation with an old friend. It’s warm, anecdotal, and peppered with pop-culture references from Barry White’s “Love’s Theme” to Hawaii Five-0. Yet beneath the humor is an undercurrent of danger and change, whether it’s glue-sniffing drifters lurking at the ballfield or the broader cultural unrest of the early ’70s.

Seasons in Manana is more than a coming-of-age memoir. It’s a reflection on memory itself, the way good times and bad intertwine, and how certain places, like Hawaii for Cook, exert a lifelong pull. For readers my age, it’s a vivid reminder of how history and personal growth intersect. For those who lived through that era, it’s likely to stir recognition. Either way, it’s a story that lingers long after the final page.