That’s a good surf dad. Tim Curran done good! Photo: Doug Falter
Later this year I’ll have a commitment in my life to rival surfing. I’m excited, but I am nervous. I feel anxious, apprehensive, and uncertain. Not about fatherhood, but because I’m just not sure how surfing will fit in. Something has to give. Despite harvesting new surfboards and wasting time online salivating over Mentawai boat trips, I know that the something is probably my commitment to surfing.
Surfing is not the kind of thing you can dip in and out of. It’s like golf, you can’t just pick up the clubs every now and then and expect not to spend the majority of the round hacking up chunks of turf and swearing loudly. Sure, you might connect with a glorious shot or two, and for a few moments you might be drenched in the bliss of “I Can Still Do This!” But it won’t last. It’s the same with surfing. When you’re out of practice you might get one decent wave, or connect with one turn that feels good, but ultimately you’ll be left with a sense of unfulfillment, inadequacy, and deep, aching dread.
I’m sure I won’t need to quit surfing, but I wonder if it might be easier. Last weekend I had a surf that left me feeling awful. Embarrassingly awful. I kind of wished I’d never gone out. I could list excuses: wonky rips, unpredictable peaks, lack of surf fitness, wrong board, or whatever else; but these betray the point. The point is that I sucked because I’m not surfing as often as I want, and this will only get worse. The feeling of surf-inadequacy has stayed with me all week, it’s an edginess that I can’t shake off.
Can I stomach these feelings through early fatherhood? My time for surfing will be restricted to rushed days here and there. I don’t know if this flaky relationship will even be worth it. I know for sure that more often than not I’ll be left disappointed, and I don’t want to carry this feeling home from the beach like a wet wetsuit. I have no wish to shoulder the midweek memories of a poor surf, moping around between soft play and nappy changes, crushed by the weight of inadequacy rather than lifted by the experiences of being a new father.
And I wonder whether surfing is even something I want to pass on to my children. Is the modern world of surf something that I want my kids to be involved in? Do I want my daughter to be objectified? Do I want my son to suffer ever-intensifying aggro? Surfing might cause them more misery than pleasure.
Living and surfing where I do is a commitment, and at times it is far from joyful. Generally it involves cold water; fickle, unpredictable conditions; long, arduous car journeys; and harsh weather. Last I checked, these are all things kids hate. Surfing in Scotland is not a child-friendly activity. It’s not a sport kids do with their friends. You rarely see young people surfing here. It’s not comfortable, and it’s not sociable. I’m sure force-feeding this lifestyle to children could lead to appreciation in the long run, but it’s likely they’ll hate it, and you, in the short term.
I love the idea of going on surf trips with my future kids, and I love the idea of surfing being a shared, joyful experience. Maybe it’s time to abandon my own surfing goals and focus on target setting for my children, try to help my offspring reach heights I never made. But then I run the risk driving them away from surfing altogether. Kids need to forge their own paths, and I’m well aware that being pushed in any given direction by a parent can lead to U turns. I don’t want surfing to become an object of misery.
There’s enough misery and uncertainty in the world as it is, and if surfing can potentially lead to more then I’m not entirely sure that’s something I want to subject my children to. Britain has inexplicably voted to leave Europe in a blaze of fear-mongering and xenophobia, and ever-increasing numbers of Americans appear to believe that Donald Trump isn’t a caricature. None of this will be cured by introducing my children to surfing, nor by indulging my own passions and frustrations.
But despite my schizophrenic relationship with surfing, I’m still here writing about it. I know there are an infinite number of platforms far more stable than surfing on which to construct your life, but I’ll probably still be scratching into any sort of wave I can find this weekend, for better or for worse. I’ll still have moments where I feel like all is good with the world. And maybe, just maybe, in this world of political madness and uncertainty, maybe surfing could be the most important thing I ever pass on to my son or daughter. I would like to hope so.
