My surfer friends, they get me. They say, Jack, we get you.

I just re-read my volleyball post from a week ago. And I'm.... I don't know.

I've never really thought too much about what sparked, and still sparks, my passion for the sport.

When I was a wee tyke, I played AYSO soccer like everyone else. I played "sweeper." Which I still don't believe is an actual position in soccer. I kind of remember having fun. I do remember that my teams didn't win much. Mom and dad like to remember that I was better than the kid on my team who liked to pick weeds and flowers during our games.

I tried playing baseball. Mostly because it was important to my dad. Baseball had been a way out of the old plantation towns and, eventually, scholarship offers from Northwestern, Michigan and a few California schools. From time to time, dad would tell a few baseball stories. Not very often, though. And, only in the last few years, he's started to talk about what it all meant in the context of the times. I tried to play baseball. It didn't work.

I did start to train and compete in kendo in the 3rd grade or so. I would think it's a kind of martial art, except the body armor weighs about 20 pounds. We used a bamboo "sword" to hit the other person. I enjoyed that. Each year, I got a little better at hitting the armored part of my teachers and opponents. I guess I got pretty good. I always got 1st or 2nd in my division at district and state tournaments. Eventually, I quit to focus on school and volleyball. I also finally figured out that it wasn't exactly a self-defense kind of martial art. I doubt a thief with a knife or a gay-basher with a gun would wait about 15 minutes while I suited up the ole body armor. And I wasn't planning on carrying around my bamboo stick -- which probably wouldn't do much against a knife or a gun anyway. Slow learner, me is, sometimes.

I wanted to play football. In 7th grade, I brought home the permission slips for my parents to sign so I could try out. Dad sent me to mom, which seemed odd. Mom took one look and said, "I'll make you a deal. I'll sign this form when you can carry the piano on your back in the marching band." I pondered that for a moment. "Does the electric piano count?" She shook her head and pointed to our piano and said, "Even if you do it, I still won't go and watch your games." Mom had spoken. Football was out.

Which brought me to volleyball. It's hard for people in the continental states to understand Hawaii's obsession with the sport. It's a little excessive. A lot excessive, actually. College volleyball players are almost godlike and get more attention than movie stars. Even opposing teams and players get stopped on the street or have their pictures placed on store walls next to rock stars and pro athletes.

Once, I was home for the holidays and threw on an MSU volleyball shirt to grab some lunch. After I ordered my chili rice and lilikoi drink, the cashier looked at me. "Do you go to Michigan State?" I said no. "Then, why would you wear that shirt? You trying to cause trouble?" No, not at all, just threw on a clean shirt to get lunch. She considered that for a moment and decided that I shouldn't be killed and stewed. Seven years earlier, Michigan State upset the then-undefeated and #1 ranked Hawaii women in the Honolulu NCAA regional final. Seven years earlier. Seven years. Seven.

Volleyball has been great to me for a long time and in a lot of ways. But, until recently, I haven't really taken a step back to look at the things I've learned. As unorthodox as it's been. Maybe I needed some time away from playing and coaching to really appreciate the things that've gotten me to this point.