Not too long ago I looked up from my easy slumber on the cushy bed in the guest room of The Hawk's Santa Barbara pad and saw something I'd somehow missed until that very moment: a yellowing black and white photo of The Hawk, his father The Politician and Duke Kahanamoku. When I asked him about it, he laughed and said his father had yanked Duke in to pose for the photo while The Hawk signed his minor league baseball contract. Normally, this would turn me around in disbelief, but I don't question anything around that guy anymore. The first time I talked to him, on wifey's rotary phone after wifey and I had set the date for our "wedding," he asked if I surfed. I said "of course" or something like that, and he proceeded to order me to Hammond's for a meet and greet the next morning. Or something like that. When I got there, at seven or eight or so, I saw one guy bobbing out there in the cold Central Coast mist. Without a wetsuit. "Oh boy," I thought to myself, my paddle strokes little more than shivers pushing me out to my destiny of being a part of Uncle Hawk's family.
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