For Lum, the path to becoming a teacher wasn’t something he necessarily planned, it was something he felt. School had always been a place where he felt at ease, a space where structure, routine, and purpose offered him a sense of comfort and stability.

“I’ve always felt comfortable in school,” he shared. “I find it to be a safe zone for me. That’s why I kind of gravitated toward being a teacher.”

That deep-rooted connection to school life made education more than just a career, it became a calling. Yet even with that sense of purpose, Lum’s early years at NHIS were not without their hardships. While he was finding his footing as a new teacher, he was also navigating the emotional weight of a recent breakup.

“The first couple of years were a bit difficult,” he recalled. “I was getting out of a relationship at the time, so I was kind of heartbroken.” Those emotionally trying times often spilled into his workday, and he credits colleague Robin Kitsu for being a supportive ear during that period.

Despite the personal challenges, Lum hit the ground running, pouring his energy into building a meaningful and hands-on learning experience for his students. With a degree in electronics, he took over a program that had grown stagnant.

“The teacher before me didn’t really teach electronics,” he said, “so the kids weren’t used to doing real electronics.” Determined to push students to their best, he introduced schematic drawing, reading schematics, and building circuits from scratch.

While students initially pushed back, within a few years, expectations shifted. “After three to five years, the students came in knowing they were going to do real work,” he said. It was the turning point that set the tone for Lum’s way of teaching.

Sometimes, the most meaningful chapter in one’s career happens when you least expect it. For Lum, that chapter started with a casual trip to the gym. During his second year at NHIS, he walked into the gym simply looking to shoot around. However, Athletic Director and boy’s basketball coach Hugh Taufaasau had another idea.

“He asked me if I wanted to coach,” Lum recalled. “I had never coached before.” Despite his inexperience, Lum accepted the offer and became an assistant coach that year.

What he lacked in knowledge, he made up for in effort and fortunately, he wasn’t alone. He learned from two seasoned mentors: Coach Taufaasau and Coach Josh, the junior varsity coach. Under their guidance, Lum developed not just the skills, but the passion that would define much of his career.

By 1996, Lum took over as head coach of the girls’ basketball team, beginning what would become a defining role in his identity at NHIS. As he was just finding his stride in coaching, his teaching career took a turn.

“I taught electronics for 15 years. I was in Q203. One day, someone told the principal I wasn’t doing anything with my kids, even though we were,” he said.  “I ended up in a back room in E Building, kind of ‘purgatory,’ with the toughest kids. That same year, I was removed from coaching boys’ basketball because of something my players did. I wanted to forfeit a game, but they wouldn’t let me, so I resigned.”

Despite this challenge, Lum continued to look for opportunities to grow and expand as an educator and basketball coach.

“I went to Campbell to coach girls’ basketball and won a state championship there. Then, when Mr. Pilialoha came back as principal, this media room opened up. Mr. Kitsu had been the media teacher, and they asked if I wanted to take it. I said yes. Pilialoha asked if I could coach girls’ basketball again too. I’ve been here ever since, starting around 2009. It started as digital media: video cameras, commercials, storyboarding. Now it’s more photography-focused,” he said.

While Mr. Lum’s decades at NHIS were filled with pride and connection, he doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the difficult moments that left a lasting impact. One memory still weighs heavily on him: the loss of a quiet student who rarely spoke in class.

“When I was in Q203, we had a classroom and a lab. The kids who didn’t work stayed in the classroom; the real electronics kids worked in the lab. There was one very quiet girl who never talked. One day, after class—period six, I think—she walked by the double doors and said, ‘Goodbye, Mr. Lum,’ and I said, ‘Oh, goodbye.’ And that was the first time she’d ever talked to me,” he said.

“The next day, I found out she committed suicide. I feel like I let her down, partly because I learned later on from the boys that she would talk about killing herself all the time in the other room. The counselors knew about it, that she had some issues because her boyfriend had killed himself the year before, exactly a year before. So I kind of feel like that was one of my big regrets,” he explained.

He also reflected on the students he’s lost over the years. “Some of them passed away way too soon,” he said. “It’s hard not to carry that with you.”

Despite building a strong electronics program from scratch, he was unexpectedly removed from the position. Still, these moments shaped him into the educator he is now. They deepened his empathy and reinforced his belief in fighting for students, even in the face of personal and professional setbacks.

Over the decades, Mr. Lum has seen more than just curriculum shifts, he’s witnessed a full evolution in student culture.

“Remember back in the early ’90s, there was no internet, no cell phones, things like that. The Nānākuli kids were so raw. Some of them didn’t even know how to use proper silverware when they went out to eat at a fancy place. They had to be taught that kind of stuff,” he said.

“Maybe Nānākuli kids weren’t the smartest kids around, but they were very respectful and very helpful. So helpful, in fact, when I lost a hubcap for my car, my boys at that time said, ‘Mister, you like new hubcaps? We find you new hubcaps.’ I go, ‘No, no, that’s not—no, I’m fine.’”

That early generation had a loyalty and protectiveness that stuck with him.

“If you had a kid giving you trouble, they’d go, ‘Mister, you like us handle it for you?’ I go, ‘No guys, leave them alone.’”

While times have changed and today’s students face a different world, Lum still found ways to connect. But he admits, “This generation is just way different. And maybe I’m getting too tired to keep up.”

Reflecting on his time at NHIS, gratitude rises to the surface.

“Thank you to the Nānākuli community,” he said simply. “I appreciate the trust a lot of you put in me over the years.”

He’s especially hopeful for the students. “I hope I wasn’t too bad of a teacher. I know I’m not the best, but I tried. I really did.”

He gives positive feedback to his co-teachers: “If you let it, Nānākuli can be a great place to teach. The community can be strong—if you get involved. And the kids, for the most part, are really great to be around.”

He’ll give his successor Ms. Kitabayashi, who will inherit his line next year, the support and reality: “She’s going to have some issues, there’s a lot of stuff she’s never taught before. But we’ll stay in touch. I’ll try to help her as much as I can.”

Former student Chris-Ann Kaululaau shared how important Lum was and is in her life.

As Gerald Lum steps away from the halls of NHIS, the outpouring of love from students past and present reveals just how far his influence has reached  and how deeply it is felt.

Helea Rabacal, a current junior, puts it bluntly:

“I’m actually really sad, because as much as he makes trouble for me, he’s actually my favorite teacher. Wholeheartedly, he really is.”

For Lucy Jarrad, a former student, Mr. Lum was more than a teacher.

“He was a safe space for me at school. So easy to talk to and so kind. I’m happy he’s going to retire and enjoy life with his dog, Bailey, but I’m definitely going to miss him”

Chris-Ann Kaululaau, who proudly calls herself one of “Lum’s originals,” sees him not just as a teacher, but as a father figure.

“He helped keep me on track and was there when times were rough at home. He took care of me and later, my own children too like we were his own.”

Kaululaau added, “My senior year was rough. He gave me rides to school every day and always had McDonald’s breakfast ready. I was one of his brats, and even now, almost 30 years later, he still feeds me. That’s the kind of person he is.”

Her message to him:

“Thanks, Dad, for never giving up on me. I’m forever grateful. I love you forever, old man.”

Aliana Kaleihaʻaheo Danbara-Quiocho, another former student, remembers how his classroom felt like a refuge. “I’d always come to his class to avoid others or just to eat lunch. He made us feel special, he gave us gifts for holidays, little things that meant a lot.”

Her goodbye is simple but heartfelt: “Thank you for everything. Be safe always! Love you.”

Kori Lamoya (Montez), Class of ‘99, was Mr. Lum’s student, athlete, and family.

“It’s bittersweet. He’s given so much to the school and the community. I’m happy he can finally rest.”

Her fondest memory goes back to her junior year basketball season in 1997–98:

“He’d pick up the whole team in his light blue minivan for tournaments at Kalaheo. We practiced at the park if the gym wasn’t open. He built a winning culture. We became West Co-Champs, went to States, and he was named Coach of the Year. That was our team.”

She ends her message with pride and love: “Be proud of the job you’ve done. You leave behind a legacy of excellence. I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me as a teacher, coach, and mentor. Love you always, Mistah. Your #24, Kori.”

Fellow teacher Blythe Ezell shares a unique memory from her first year on staff.

“At one of my very first faculty meetings in 2012, people were debating phones in the classroom. A lot of younger teachers thought it wasn’t a big deal, but Mr. Lum raised his hand and said, ‘What is manini to one teacher might be a big issue to somebody else.’ He stood up for others in the room, and that really stuck with me. That’s who he is, someone who speaks up for people who need support.”

She adds: “He’s always been one of the most fun and entertaining people in the department. His stories, his dedication to his basketball girls, and how beloved he is by generations of students… It’s amazing. Some of my husband’s cousins even had him as a teacher! He’s made such a lasting impact.”