How the Lāna‘i Skatepark Came to Be

Contributed by Natasha Inaba

In January 2013, I was a struggling single mom of five, living with my mother. One night, after a heated argument, my oldest son, Corey — Hoku — grabbed his skateboard and stormed out. He was 15. Normally, when something was bothering him, he’d stay in his room and play his instruments. But this was different. This time, he left.

I loaded up the rest of the kids in the car and drove around Lāna‘i looking for him. I finally spotted his silhouette behind the old gym. I called his name, but he ran back into the darkness.

I remember thinking: if only there was a skatepark, maybe I would’ve found him there.

I ended up speaking to two MPD officers that night. I told them, “If there was a skatepark here, a place where he could skate his frustration away, I would’ve found him.” I looked at them and said, “Watch. It might sound crazy, but Lāna‘i is going to have its very own skatepark.”

That same night, I started researching. I wrote things down, looked up how to build one, what steps needed to be taken. I didn’t know where it would lead, but I had to start.

January 24th was Hoku’s sixteenth birthday. There was a Community Plan Advisory Committee (CPAC) meeting scheduled at the Senior Center. I told him, “I’m sorry, I know it’s your birthday, but I need you to watch your siblings. I’m going to get you a skatepark.” I told him this would be his birthday present, even if it took years. He stayed home. I went to the meeting.

I was a wreck. Nervous. Crying uncontrollably before the CPAC committee. I didn’t like talking in front of people. I didn’t like people knowing my business. But I stood up that night and told them what I was going through, what I wanted for the youth here. I didn’t have data or handouts. I just told them what I knew in my heart.

At the time, skateboarders were still looked down on. I had heard of kids being stopped by police just for riding in the street. I had to convince people that skateboarding could be something good. I talked about Hoku, how he gained confidence skating at the park on Kaua‘i. How not all kids are into traditional sports. How skating can be an individual challenge, a creative outlet. I even brought up Tony Hawk. I talked about how kids record and photograph each other skating, building media skills. I told them that people travel the world to visit skateparks. That it could bring business. But mostly, I talked about kids — kids like me growing up, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Kids looking for mentorship, or a place to just be. 

I tried reaching out to Pūlama Lāna‘i. I had conversations with Ed Jensen. I remember Kurt Matsumoto showing up to our first Skatepark Design Workshop and sharing how his generation had a skate area in Dole Park. That first workshop had a great turnout — parents and kids who didn’t even skate showed up. They helped design what would become the Lāna‘i Skatepark.

But it wasn’t just meetings. We needed community backing. Hoku and I decided we had to show them that the island wanted this. That’s where the skate event came in.

MaryLou Kaukeano approved us using the school parking lot. Hoku designed the flyers. We printed them at Maui Community College. He and Alapaki Kanno passed them out, stapled them at the store and gas station. We made our own waivers. Hoku gathered support letters from students and went door to door for signatures. Ryker Ige and Trevor Sarme helped too. Hoku and his siblings, Kawena Del Rosario and Seth LaJiness, stood outside Pine Isles with clipboards after school. Alapaki had his own petition form and helped get names. Nick Palumbo brought his half-pipe. Kendall Sabin provided the skate gear. Alberta DeJetley shared our story in the newspaper. Everyone played a part.

We brought all the letters and the petition to the Budget meeting. $25,000 in funding was approved.

Eventually, my family moved to Kaua‘i, but I kept following up. I stayed in touch with April Shiotani at Parks and Rec and the Youth Center. They decided to work together on the project. My kids and I even flew back for the second skate event. We paid for the giveaways ourselves and made it a one-day trip.

I kept checking in, even from afar. I told myself, if things slowed down, I’d fly back and push it forward again.

Then I heard about a high school kid named Jacob Janikowski who was stepping up.

I thought, “That’s so damn awesome.” I had figured maybe Nick or Alapaki would take the lead, but instead it was Jacob. A student. A skater. Just like Hoku. That’s what this was all about.

I watched from the background, ready to step in if needed. I joined Budget Meetings online. Tried to testify but couldn’t unmute myself. Still, I was glad to hear new voices. Even if some came off aggressive, I was grateful they were showing up for Lāna‘i.

I flew in for the last Design Meeting. It wasn’t as packed as the first, but still a solid turnout. I was thankful.

The rest is history.

All glory goes to God. But He used the whole village to make it happen. The council members, CPAC, Riki Hokama, Aunty Denise Fernandez, the signature supporters, the children that took the time to write their requests letters, Gabe Johnson — especially Gabe. He stood strong when the funding was at risk. He didn’t let it get cut. He was a huge part of this.

If you look at some of the photos from back then, you’ll see a lot of at-risk kids. Kids from broken homes. I saw myself in them. I wanted more for them.

It started with me wanting to give my son a skatepark. But in the end, it wasn’t just for him. It wasn’t just from me. My kids —Hoku, Kawena, Seth— they did the hard part. I was just the voice. The community moved together toward something we couldn’t yet see. And they made it become reality.  

I hope the skatepark stays that way. A place of peace. A place of unity. A place where kids can grow — mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically. A place to just simply have fun.

It really did take the whole village for this to come to fruition. 

Thank you, Lāna‘i. Especially to all the youth who saw the unseen and took action to make it a reality — you guys are the real MVPs. Please never lose that hope, that vision, that voice. And to everyone who got behind them to show support, mahalo. We love you, Lāna‘i.

Mahalo a me ke aloha,
Natasha Inaba