If Gregory got a DNA test, his results would indicate a 99.9 percent propensity for developing a Tiki obsession.
He gets this genetic trait honestly, from his Mom. When Gregory was a kid, his mother was known for over-the-top escapism décor. His bedroom would change every couple of years. Greg lived his toddler years surrounded by dinosaurs and a mural that rivaled Jurassic park. In the early grades, Greg slept under the sea with fish nets dangling from the ceiling and exotic schools of fish swimming around him. By middle school, Greg was marooned in deep space with a cosmos
of planets timelessly circling his head, a gargantuan model Death Star looming ominously nearby, and toothbrush-fleck painted stars that glowed when the lights went out. His sister
was also fortunate – she slept in the deep shade of a tropical jungle. Every room his Mom created was over the top. She set the bar quite high. Of course, eventually, Gregory grew up
and moved out. I suspect that most adults would accept living in a cookie-cutter beige world as they transitioned from their parents’ home into one of their own.
Read the rest of the story in Polynesiacs: Tiki at Home, page 54.
The Sunken Schooner, Benton Harbor, Michigan
