Personal Surf Lore

I grew up with a lot of surf lore passed down from my Dad. Tony surfed up and down the coast of California when he lived in Los Angeles as a teenager. While the Beach Boys sang about surfing without going near the water, he was actually out there catching waves. At 18, he moved back to Venezuela and brought surfing with him. Skinny and the youngest of his crew, they nicknamed him “the Larva.” The Encyclopedia of Surfing credits him with helping “to get things started near Caracas.” He even owned and ran a surf shop there—that’s where he met my mom.

I ended up in Los Angeles 30 or so years after my father left, and I’ve always wanted to learn to surf. I love the ocean—its power and vastness makes me feel calm. I get a sense of peach from feeling how much bigger than me it is. And riding a wave looks like a rush!

I told myself I’d learn by the time I hit 30, and I’m turning 29 this year. I’ve wanted to take lessons for years, but funds have been an issue. However, my friend SB found a place that fits into my budget. It’s in Huntington Beach, but it fits into my budget. There is also the fact that I’m going to Sydney in fall. Half a year of summer! It seems clear that this is the time.

So for the past couple of weekends I’ve been making the 45 min drive to Huntington Beach with SB and her bf Stewart to take lessons. Of course, it’s hard. Even though I workout like a madwoman, I have no natural athletic ability . . . at all. Any accomplishments I’ve had in this arena have been hard-fought. I had no illusions this would be any different. The ocean has no problem reassuring me that my assumptions were correct – she throws a couple of punches and beats me around a little every time to make her point. It’s cool. I don’t mind being roughed up a bit.

Both days I’ve been out have been choppy. Last Saturday in particular – it was misty, cold, and mean. I hate the cold! I grew up with the Atlantic as my ocean. The Pacific seems frigid to me on a “warm” day. But go figure, I’m getting used to it. This past chilly weekend, the instructors claimed that the water would be warmer than the cold air. I thought they were full of shit. It turns out they were right. And apparently, I can take it. I haven’t managed to stand all the way yet, but each time I get a little closer. I’m pretty much getting ½ to ¾ of the way up. If I could just manage to get my front leg up on the pop-up a little quicker I’d be pretty much there. But even at ½ to ¾ of the way there, it is in fact a rush.

When I’m out there, I can’t help thinking of my dad. I can imagine him standing on the beach, yelling at me. “Mi viiiiiidita, ten cuido! Be careful!” You see, by the time I came along, my dad was no longer surfing. One thing lead to another and Tony settled down, got a “real” job and had a couple of kids. Somehow, this one time worshipper of the sea and sun now hides from it like the plague. I remember the last family trip to the beach. After bathing himself in SPF 1000 and wrapping himself head to toe with clothes, blankets, and towels, he found a shady spot and settled down uneasily. I may have grown up with the mythology of surfing, but Tony had become a workaholic.

Now you could say Tony sold out to the man and went corporate. You could say that, but the truth is that Tony is the epitome of the self-made man. He’s got the American Dream written all over him – although in this case, the American Dream jumps back and forth between both of the American Continents. He brought himself up from nothing through hard work, determination and integrity. My dad changed so that my brother and I could have the lives we have.

I think it’s appropriate that I finally took up surfing for the first time around father’s day. It’s a little personal celebration all of my own -- a little chance to connect in some way with his history and who he was, and to appreciate the person he is now. Each time I’ve been out I feel like I’m getting a little closer to making the mythology I’ve been given a little closer to real for myself.

It’s possible that the story isn’t over just yet. Tony met up with his old surfing buddies not too long ago and claimed that he was getting the itch to take it up again. Maybe the old surfer will actually take up his board again. And maybe I’ll actually be able to get all the way up someday. Maybe there is still time to catch a couple of waves together.

Then again, maybe passing on the mythology is enough to pass on the legacy. Either way, he’s an inspiration.

It’s a week late, but Happy Father’s Day. Thanks for everything Papi!

(My Dad's surf crew then - he's the skinny one on the far right.)

(My Dad's surf crew now - he's center right with the Tommy Bahama shirt)