Disclaimer: (all ch:) Rocket Power © Klasky-Csupo and Nickelodeon. (this ch:) What A Wonderful World © Bob Thiele, George David Weiss, and Louie Armstrong.
A/N: Many thanks (all ch:) to Billy Wright, Miguel Chavez, Nick Carosella, and others for their input and inspiration.
Chapter 1: 1994.
The old man sat in the sand on the shore that afternoon, still wearing his white shirt and fedora, his company I.D. still hanging from the white plastic pencil carrier in the pocket of his shirt. He studied carefully the two toddlers he was minding, not his but his neighbors', beside him. Wearing new bathing suits of matching print, the violet haired girl in her two-piece sat squinting at the proceedings from behind salt encrusted cheeks that might have been rosy ordinarily. How she'd begun to look like her mom, poor things, the man couldn't help wondering. The tiny auburn haired boy, maybe a year younger, stood in his trunks beside her as he fidgeted with the string of flowers around him, trying to make sense of it all, his hand on her shoulder. Then she sat him on her lap, as he grabbed her in a babylike hug and began to pat her gently on the back.
The girl, ignoring her flowers, began to play quietly with his hair. She had begun doing that when she had been feeling bad, which had been quite often lately. He didn't mind it, and it seemed to make her feel better. Then, in like manner, he began to play with her hair.
Surfers. Of all ages, sexes, and conditions. A few were great-grandparents, and some had yet to start kindergarten. There were many dozens of them, from Ocean Shores as well as other places near and far, forming one enormous circle just outside the breakers, seated upright on their floating boards, and many of them holding hands with one another to maintain the integrity of the circle.
...therefore we commend her memory to the deep in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the faithful...
Almost all present wore a floral lei, including the young pastor whose black short sleeve shirt with its short white collar contrasted with the colorful boardshorts he wore. As he concluded his part of the proceedings, a burly Hawaiian took over, representing traditions of equal or greater antiquity.
A few moments later, after he had spoken, all heads turned towards a lone bagpiper in full kilt standing on the bequieted Pier playing an all too familiar passage from Dvorak's Ninth Symphony, its plaintive notes wafting over the placid water as though across time itself. And when he had finished, an antique biplane that could have engaged the Red Baron buzzed the assembly from the opposite side, dipping a wing in salute.
A large bell started ringing slowly in the distance, and the surfers in the water flung their leis towards the interior of the circle, and the people on the shore cast theirs into the lapping shorepound. As the people started paddling back into the beach, a sound system started to play a familiar tune by Louie Armstrong that was most appropriate.
I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and for you, and I think to myself, 'What a wonderful world'...
Raymundo came to the shore and grabbed Otto and Reggie in an affectionate hug as they ran into the shallow water to greet him. Then he lost it; he almost fell to the ground, crying, only to be steadied by his old friend Tito.
"It's okay, bruddah. Danni's ohana, dat mean you're ohana, heck, you been my ohana fo while. So da lil cuzzes, dey ohana too..."
"I know. Thanks," Ray replied. "But there's so much, the kids, the business..."
"We take dis one step at a time, bruddah. Everything work fo da best..."
"I know," acknowledged Raymundo to Tito, able to extract a smile from himself. "Thanks, Merv." Raymundo acknowledged the man who'd been minding his little ones.
"No problem. Why don't I take your board home, you guys go get yourselves cleaned up..."
"Thanks, and very kind of you, but not today. I think we'll just spend a quiet afternoon down here," Ray answered Merv, much calmed down "Just the three of us..."
Ray hardly noticed Otto and Reggie beginning to play with his hair.