Page 3 of Be Your Anything
So, yeah…
I wasn’t a big fan.
Then my dad, this guy I barely knew and who had only ever been to town to visit me a few times…he wanted me to stand on a board in that big mess of waves?
No thanks.
But he was surprisingly patient with me, moved really slowly. For the entire week he was visiting, he never pushed me to go out into the water when I didn’t feel ready.
The day before he left town, I told him I wanted to try it out, for real, not just standing on a board in the sand.
It would be great if this story had some beautiful moment that included me managing to stand by the end of the day, making my dad proud, something that bonded us together for the rest of our lives.
Unfortunately, that just wasn’t in the cards. I couldn’t manage to get on my feet. The entire day, I felt a little lost, a little out of control, and it made me so angry.
I stood next to him with tears in my eyes as he loaded up his car and said goodbye the following morning, wishing I’d been good enough to make him stay.
Then he knelt down in front of me and told me to keep practicing so maybe the next time he came to see me, we could surf together.
Of course, the first thing I did once he was gone was beg my mom to sign me up for surf lessons. I wanted to be able to stand up on the board the next time he visited.
There’s a professional surf academy in the South Bay, and within a few weeks, I was booked in for daily private lessons.
My instructor’s name was Fetu, and he was this big, broad-shouldered Samoan with tribal tattoos and long dark hair. His family had lived in Hawaii for years before he moved to California for love.
He’s a surf coach now—mine,actually—but he’s still the same Fetu, always throwing out a shaka and a “Howzit, bro?” to the other locals and surfers when he’s around town.
That summer, we met for weeks before there was any sign of improvement on my part. His biggest critique of my failures had to do with my desire to be in control.
“You have to feel the essence of it and then roll along that flow,” he told me.
I just remember scratching my head, not really getting what he meant at all and thinking Fetu might have taken one too many faceplants into the sandy shore. I’m sure what he said made sense, but I was a kid and couldn’t really put it to good use.
We were floating in the ocean, me lying exhausted on the board, facing the sky, feeling the beginning prickle of tears at the backs of my eyes, certain I’d never be able to do it, sure my dad would come to town again and I’d still suck.
Fetu stood next to me, trying to give me words of wisdom and advice. And then, he finally said something that clicked with me.
“You know how when you’re upset and you want to cry because you didn’t get something you wanted, your entire body seizes up? You clench your fists and your face and you get loud and angry?”
I nodded.
“The wave is the opposite. It rolls in its own time, and you can either flow with it or get knocked over. The most important thing is that you relax.” He grinned. “Enjoy the ride as long as you can.”
Then he started setting me up for the next wave that was forming off in the distance. I tried to remember that being tense and frustrated and angry wasn’t going to make me better.
When that wave finally came, I paddled with it, started in that forward motion, and something clicked. Something in my chest felt like it recognized the wave in a different way.
Up I went, onto my feet. My timing was perfect. The smile stretching across my face was massive.
I finally let the wave be the wave, and she took me up with her. It was amazing.
Of course, only a few seconds into it I totally bombed out. I fell forward onto the board and split my eyebrow open. Had to get a few stitches and couldn’t go into the water for a week.
My mom was pissed—called the academy, threatened to sue, even though she’d signed off on a waiver absolving them of responsibility because—duh—surfing is a dangerous sport.
It was too late, though.
Just that one wave, and I was hooked.
