The next time my father and I chat I'm going to ask him if the reason he used to surf growing up in Southern California was because all the dogs at the beach made him smile... or because he just couldn't help himself with all the insanely smart and spirited surfergirls that used to toss along beside him atop the momentum of the briny waves. I suppose that, it being sunny Southern California and all, the bikinis involved might have also been a factor. However, I must say--even surfing in the cold cold waters off of Manzanita, OR... where every inch of body at the beach gets tucked into tight layers of neoprene--you can't deny the charm of being immersed in sea and the good energy of strong brilliant women and beach-romping dog pals.
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I know your father. He was a lousy surfer. More like a surfer wannabe. He had a long list of things wanta'dtabe. He gave several of them a go. Of all the things he tried, he was proably worst at surfing. He looked pretty unathletic and wobbly (is there a surfer slang for that?) on his 11 foot 9 inch board. And he was so shy in those days that girls in bikinis would have scared him back off the beach. Fortunately for him, what they called bikinis then were probably more like "two piece" middle aged matron lady swim suits these days. But, as clumsy as your old man was, he did save a kid from drowning one day, by paddling out to a glowing white midwestern tourist going down for the third count who had never heard of rip tide and who had to be towed to shore holding the skeg at the rear of the board. That incident may have been the real cosmic reason your old man ever tried to learn to surf... if you believe in cosmic sorts of stuff. Of course that day there was only one girl on the beach-- the bleached out guy's bleached more girlfriend. Upon reaching shore the bleachy guy gurgle-coughed, the bleachier girl swooped on him with kisses between gurgle-coughs, and then they both walked away. Not a word said to your old man or his buddy who had the model T with the rear window out that could hold the 11 foot 9 inch board. Apparently the ocean-skills gene must have doubled up when your old man married his scubadooby princess, accounting for your apparent greater oceanistic proficiencies. That was probably cosmic too.
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