Raising A Soul Surfer (15 page)

I took him right out into the hall and gave him a spanking before making him return the cards and apologize to the owner. He knew it was wrong, but in his heart he had decided that he wanted those cards more than he wanted to be obedient.

Like all parents, we had to use more creative methods to discipline our children as they grew older.

It seems that people all around you cuss without even knowing they’re doing it; but of course, cussing was not suitable for the Hamilton household. If one of the boys said a cuss word, he would get a drop of hot sauce on his tongue. To show we didn’t have a double standard, the punishment was the same for me.

I remember that at one point the kids were getting overly critical of one another, so I made a rule that before anyone in our family could say something critical or mean, he had to say 10 positive or affirming things. We live in a world where people are starved for a kind word. I hoped that by learning how to give compliments and encouragement, my children might bring life to people—just by their words of thoughtful kindness.

When one of the boys would put down or name-call his sibling or a friend, I would explain that, in a way, how he treated others is the way he also treats Christ. “I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matt. 25:40,
NLT
). So they had to apologize to Jesus as well as to the person they had insulted.

When the boys got rowdy on long drives to town, I’d pull over at a park or a road along the beach and let them run. This burned off a lot of energy and any aggressive edge, mellowing them out for the rest of the trip. Noah claims that I would let them get nearly to the van and then drive another quarter mile, but I think he’s imagining that!

Sometimes as parents we try to make those magical moments called “quality time” happen on demand. For the most
part, quality time happens during long periods of quantity time. But what do you do when both parents have to work? More creative strategies . . . and a job that was a little different than something from 9 to 5.

I was blessed with a job delivering magazines to kiosks and stands all over the island. Tom was usually working nights and surfing during the days, so I loaded up our van with magazines and little Bethany and headed out. The boys were in school, but I could be back in time to take them all to the beach. There was no time clock for me to punch or deadline for the magazines to be delivered other than by the end of the day.

We could take a break and stop anywhere along the way to enjoy a playground, visit animals at the Humane Society or have lunch on the beach. When the kids were older and began surfing, I would deliver magazines in the summer while they would enjoy a surf session on the other side of the island. Sure, this adventure-filled delivery schedule always took a lot longer, but with the boys and even Bethany helping me load the magazine racks, the work part went by quickly.

The deeper blessing about my magazine delivery job was that it was my personal Bible and spiritual education time. If the kids stayed home with Tom, I would use my alone time to pray and worship God as I played my Christian music and learn from Bible studies on the car radio and CDs played on my car stereo. A full delivery route could take eight hours, more or less, depending on how much work I could fit in the schedule with everything else going on, namely surf.

Somewhere over the rainbow is a constant reality on Kauai! It is raining hard right now, and I am thinking about where I could go to get dry. Usually, if we are on the North Shore of Kauai, we could
go to town and get dry. It can rain for weeks here, but we get used to it and learn to strategize our life around it. We save our town trips with a movie for the really bad weather days, that is, if our windshield wipers work.

We have warm, balmy, soft trade winds that come in from the southeast and push the clouds up onto the mountains above Hanalei Bay, and then the rain dumps into the valley. These are predictable and consistent rains, nurturing the taro and the wet-lands of the North Shore. And oh, the wet, green beautiful valleys filled with rainbows and waterfalls!

When we are really desperate to get away from the rain, we head to Polihale. This beach is the official beach, seriously, at the end of the rainbow. Hot, dry, dusty miles of bumpy road lead to the reward of a soft, sandy white beach filled with roaring dangerous surf, to our camera’s delight. Kauai is 30 miles wide by 60 miles long, and the highway is along the ocean, ending at Polihale, with the other end at Ke’e Lagoon—Ke’e being the safest place to swim and snorkel, and Polihale being the most dangerous, with rips that will sweep you off your feet in seconds.

Kauai has more bridges to cross than any place else per square foot because it has more rain, which equals more sand washing down to the ocean from more rivers and more riverbeds to create and maintain more beaches. So, if you don’t mind crossing bridges, you can enjoy the beautiful beaches; and if you look back from where you’ve come, you can see more rainbows than you have ever seen before.

Kayaking was and is an adventure we try to do every summer. A family friend told me the following story about one such kayaking trip:

“Dig . . . keep your head down!” I shouted in encouragement to my son David. He manned the front of a two-man kayak as we strained, trying to paddle directly into the wind and waves. A couple of hundred yards ahead I could catch glimpses of Tom’s and Bethany’s heads bobbing in the water by their overturned kayak. A few hundred feet to our right were the inaccessible Na Pali cliffs stretching into the distance in both directions. The wind and swell had been building fast and now surged 10 to 20 feet against the cliff face and bounced back at us. Slowly, we gained on the two figures struggling in the water ahead of us.

We had left the beachhead at Ke’e barely an hour earlier on a beautiful, calm morning. Now the wind was howling and white caps were breaking over us. Tom had shown up at our rendezvous point with a then eight-year-old Bethany and an open two-man kayak. By “open,” I mean open-hulled or “sinkable.” Also with us were Tom’s son Timmy, then 12, and my son Logan, the same age, piloting single kayaks. My 10-year-old son, David, and I rounded out the expedition in an unsinkable two-man kayak. We were off to paddle 12-plus miles and camp out for a couple of nights.

I explained that taking an 8-year-old girl and having an open kayak were not good ideas, but Tom said it was fine. I love that about Tom. You don’t have to waste time discussing things, because he’s not going to change his mind. So, we took off on an adventure.

The wind and waves were behind us and kept rising as we made our way down the infamous Na Pali coast. The boys and I reached the first sea cave. It was about 300 feet long and came out on the other side of a point.
We decided to risk the rising swell and were able to ride a wave right on through. It’s a super rush as the wave jacks up and you swear you’re going to be scraped along the ceiling. Once out, you take a hard right and exit into a choppy but sheltered cove behind the point.

We waited and waited, but no Tom. Eventually, I told Logan and Timmy to go on slowly ahead while David and I paddled back around the outside of the point to check on Tom and Bethany. As soon as we rounded the point, the wind hit us with unbelievable force. Far behind we saw Tom and Bethany in the water with a sinking kayak. Now we had to battle our way back against the wind and the current. By the time we got to them, we had to paddle full bore just to stay beside them. Tom asked me to take Bethany in my kayak and said he would stay with the boat. Not a great plan, but this wasn’t the time to have a discussion.

In seconds, Bethany was in our boat, and the wind and waves took us away. By the time I looked back, Tom was already a couple hundred feet behind and almost lost among the spray and swells. But then, as I looked again—a miracle—the first boat we’d seen, a catamaran tour boat, was heading toward Tom from the ocean side. This boat had a big open deck and carried up to 25 passengers. The last thing I saw as we ran with the seas was people trying to wrestle the kayak onto their boat. Tom’s last words, echoed in my mind, were “see you in Kalalau.”

Our plan was to break our trip into three parts while doing some exploring along the way. We were about halfway to our first stop, the Kalalau Valley, a wide beautiful place with beaches, rivers and waterfalls. It used to be home for more than 5,000 Hawaiians, but now it has
reverted to nature with only goats, pigs, and campers on the beach . . . and, well, also quite a few usually naked hippies in hidden camps.

The next miles were relatively uneventful and almost peaceful as we got away from the turbulence of the cliffs. We caught up with Timmy and Logan and had a chance to appreciate the spectacular scenery rising thousands of feet above us. Miles ahead we could see the beach at Kalalau.

Meanwhile, Tom had emptied his open kayak and, despite the loud protests of the passengers, took off in pursuit of us. Tom said that the captain, a fellow surfer, assured everyone that he could handle the rugged conditions, but then Tom has been known to minimize danger. He did admit later, amusedly, that one poor woman was weeping hysterically and begging the captain not to let him back in the water because he was going to die. Personally, I doubt if the captain could have stopped him!

With less than a mile to go, we approached the beach where we would land. Between us and our destination, however, was the Kalalau River mouth, which left the water shallow far off shore. As we looked out to sea, a huge set of waves started to plough across the ocean between the beach and us. We slowed down to assess the situation. The safest thing to do was to head a half-mile out to sea and go around the reef. We watched and judged the time between sets. It seemed we could shoot across to the beach, if luck held.

As the last wave of the set came through, we were already charging it. Halfway across the distance, Logan and Timmy were doing well. There were no waves in
sight and I thought that we were safe. Just then, Bethany, who was sitting in the bow facing me, opened her eyes very wide. She pointed and yelled, “Mr. Miles!” I turned to look over my shoulder and saw a 10-foot wave face start to curl and break behind us.

I immediately went down on my back and dug in the paddle, pulling us around to run with the wave. We were up in the air, then racing down the face. “Just catching a wave,” I said through clenched teeth to calm Bethany’s fears (and mine). My whole strength was on the paddle to keep us on the wave. I still remember Bethany’s face turning from terror to joy as we rode and rode that wave. This went on for a quarter- to half-mile—certainly the longest ride I’ve ever had on a kayak.

When the wave finally weakened and slid beneath us, we saw that the beach was just a few hundred feet in front of us. We would still have to brave a huge beach break, get rolled around, lose and retrieve our food and camping gear, but we had made it! And half an hour later there came Tom . . . no worries!

After this, we took a shower in a cool freshwater waterfall, hiked, camped, cooked over a fire, saw a turtle lay eggs at night, and looked at the incredible stars as we slept out on the sand. Good times and long days lazing in the shade.

We began the last leg out with much calmer seas in the lea of the island. We had to paddle much harder now, as there was less wind. However, it was still rough enough to where Tom suddenly sunk again, so we paddled over to again pick up Bethany. Tom wanted to stay with the boat (déjà vu), and this time the conditions were not so bad and we were on a section of coast that
usually had more boats coming and going. So we left, paddling the last two miles to land at Polihale Beach. We pulled our kayaks out of the water and onto the dunes, where someone was to soon meet us to drive us back around the island. We sat and waited for Tom . . . and waited . . . and waited.

Finally, we spotted something odd out in the water that wasn’t a boat. Slowly, it became more visible. It was, in fact, Tom. He had rigged up some ropes into a harness and was swimming the last two miles dragging the overturned two-man kayak full of water . . . no worries. As he came closer, we jumped in the surf to help bring the boat through the five- to six-foot shore break.