Making it happen when more important things are in the water. Photo: Dean Dampney
This could—and maybe should—have been written for Mother’s Day. And in spite of the dad-specific bent, my gut still doesn’t want this to be a musing exclusive to Father’s Day. So instead, just before father’s day, I’m writing in honor of ALL the dads and moms who have kept surfing a central part of their lives amidst bills and babies, professional obligations and adolescent angst.
You see, every obsessive-compulsive surfer out there who has lived their every waking day in tune with swell and tide confronts a rather cruel paradox upon maturing to adulthood: the stigma of going on with adult life when the water was your first and, for a while, only, love. It’s not a stigma that’s brought upon oneself, but rather a product of surfing’s cult of selfishness and the untroubled freedom metaphorically embodied by waveriding. Simply put, being on it every day is often contingent upon shelving other priorities, obligations, and possibilities in favor of the beach. And let’s be real, adult life for everyone but the trust-endowed and drug-fueled involves dedicating significantly more time to the former, often at the expense of double sessions, global travel, and a twenty-board quiver.
As the former frat boy archetype abandons the nightclub to the wide-eyed dismay of his cocktail-touting comrades in single life, the male surfer who chooses to marry at a reasonable age often confronts a similar, if somewhat paradoxical, resistance from those he shares the lineup with (I can’t speak for the ladies here). “You’re doing what? Getting married? Dude, you’re blowing it!” is not an uncommon response for the surfer emerging from the often bachelor crew of under-40 guys tallying 300+ days in the water. Being the first dude in your crew to get hitched isn’t easy, and strangely, the people you spend the most time with in the water can tend to make it more difficult.
So why the stigma against settling down with the right gal (or dude)? Because every headshaking homie is anticipating the next step after partnering up: babies and all the trimmings. And if married life is commonly (albeit unnecessarily and unfairly) regarded as an impediment to the surf life, then babies are seen as a veritable barricade to beach time.
Yet unfairly so, which is why I’m piping up in praise of all my moms and dads out there who’ve kept the beach life central through what many young surfers regard only as trials and tribulations of diapers and debt.
You see, when kids enter the picture, surfing is rarely synonymous with life. Single, mid-twenties, and cruising means that you can burn a whole day on one-foot windchop, take a nap, and check in with the boys before punching a card at the bar (on either side of the counter). The shit onshore beachbreak session when you’re twenty-five isn’t really commitment: it’s folly. The same session when you’re a family man? Commitment embodied.
Happily partnered-up with two+ toddlers and you surfed? That means you were either paddling out in the pre-dawn, sneaking a power hour in during lunch, or, better yet, taking the lil’uns with you for the day, where catching a few waves was back-burner to the main event of sandcastles, seashells, and shorecasting. Sure, surfing requires more scheduling with mouths to feed and little human beings to educate. Yet the beauty in the logistical challenges is that those beach-born toddlers will grow older, ushering in a whole new parenting era: surfing with your kids.
Admittedly, I’m not yet a parent, but as a wifed-up guy with a track record of blowing off life-at-large to log water time, I can’t say enough about how awesome it is to see fellow surf-junkies redefine a vapid, selfish pursuit as a meaningful family affair.
Case in point are two of my favorite and most talented dudes to surf with, both working fathers of two somewhere in coastal California. Representative of a whole cast of other beach personalities who equally inspire me—from San Diego board builders to Australian software engineers and Florida academics to Peruvian executives, and heaps of others that I’ve shared waves with—these guys set the standard for the modern surf dad.
Nope, they didn’t christen their firstborn in long period swell while still in diapers (that shit’s cold for toddlers. And have you tried putting a wetsuit on over a diaper?). Far from a page in the playbook of the angsty WCT—or worse yet, NSSA—dad, these guys just kept with the AM surf regimen as their families grew, returning to weekend family breakfasts with boards underarm. And eventually, the kids got big enough to help unload the suits and boards, then to see how much riding waves meant to their parents, and then to insist that they, too, were tagging along to the beach in the wee hours.
Grom boards followed and now the little ones are riding shotgun for every surf outing. While others have pressure-caddied their preteens through thousands of heats, the organic approach to family surfing that I’ve had the privilege of witnessing has seamlessly blended paternal affect, a communal bond with the ocean, and a reverence for high-performance surfing. Under dad’s watchful (and talented) surfing eyes, these young’uns have learned etiquette and rules—from where trash goes and how to take care of their things (read: boards) to how to deal with dickheads. They’re learning some early life lessons by trying to master progressive maneuvers that pops pulled first, from tenacity to taking turns. And they love the ocean, as much because surfing is about family time as it is about catching another wave.
There’s nothing like being on a trip halfway across the world and seeing a ripping junior accompanied by his old man, who’s still throwing buckets on every set wave that his kid doesn’t take from him. Or the mom who rocks up to the pier for the early and catches a few while little Johnny punts over every inside closeout that the ocean can offer up. So in the wake of Mother’s Day and a day out from Father’s Day 2014, here’s to all the parents keeping surfing at the center and bringing the family along for the ride!
