Kooking It UP!: Time

I am not going to beat around the bush, January 2015 has been a pretty rough one for your boy. First off, the first two weeks of January felt like June and July, maybe even flatter. No waves to be found anywhere. Then as the waves started to pick up, something else happened. On January 13th, after my wife and I came home from our weekly Taco Tuesday date, I got this odd call around 8p from my brother who lives up north. He usually texts, so this call was a surprise, and when surprises as these occur, it's usually not good news on the other side of the line. I let the call go to voicemail because I was just about to jump in the shower, acknowledging that probably there was going be bad news. I just wanted to get myself comfortable and in the right head space to receive it. Half an hour later, after I was washed up, had some comfortable clothes on and my head was right, I called my brother and braced myself. The news: My father had past.

I sat at my computer for what felt like an eternity, just scrolling, not reading, not doing anything, just remaining in shock. I have great memories with my father. He taught me all about nature, camping, fishing, and offered me the love of the outdoors which opened my world. But over the years, as fathers and sons do, we were at odds. I haven't spoken to him in three years, and I know that he wanted to talk and work things out, but he just didn't know how. He always wanted me to make the first move, and I didn't want to give it to him. Like most stories of Fathers and Sons, I did everything in my power to not be like him, but in the end, I'm almost a mirror image, stubborn like a mule, not wanting to give an inch. Which probably cost both of us three years of memories.

My Father thought he could live until a hundred. He was the guy who flew by the seat of his chair, only knowing what he was going to do a few hours from the present. He didn't leave much, just three sons to sort out whatever trinkets he left behind. But each of those trinkets had lasting memories for each of us. My Father and I disagreed on a lot of things. But one thing we didn't disagree on was our love for Star Wars. As I walked into his room, on top of his DVD player were Episodes 1-6. My Step Mom totally obliged and gave me all six. This was all I wanted, and I left everybody else to sort out whatever broken empire he left behind.

The thing about having a parent die is that you are constantly reminded of them. You look at their old pictures and you look exactly like them when they were your age. When I looked in the mirror, I saw my father. And everybody wanted to console me, so they asked me how I was doing, how was the funeral, how did he die? Which was a very nice and appropriate thing to do. But I had to repeatedly tell the story over and over. Each time it got better, and each time it would become something other then real, somewhat surreal. But it always reminded me of what had just happened. And it cut deeper each time. The only time I really had to grieve was during our drive up north and back, when all I had in front of me was road and thoughts.

After taking care of his funeral and what comes with a parent's death, I headed back to San Diego. The surf was good and it was forecasted to get better. I just wanted to surf. I wanted to get in the water as fast as I could. I didn't want to do anything else. My buddy Steve was in town from up north and we surfed Trestles. Steve and I talked, he always has a really positive yet realistic outlook on things, which helped a lot.

Steve on one of many bombs.

The surf was alright at Trestles. This swell was pretty selective on the places it hit. Trestles wasn't one of them in my opinion. I ended up leaving around noon and went straight to one of the reefs by my home, and boy, was it firing on all cylinders. Even the outer break they call "Little Makaha" was going off. A lot of people were telling me that spot doesn't go off but once in a while and I was lucky to see it. I paddled out to the major left at this spot and I used Little Makaha as my indicator. It didn't matter. When the big sets came, no matter how far you paddled out, you were going to get drilled. I got drilled a dozen times over. I didn't catch but one wave in two hours. I just sat in that same spot and kept taking it on the head. And I enjoyed it. It got my mind off of the really painful stuff. It got me present.

The next day I headed down to Baja to one of my favorite winter spots. It was a solid 6 to 8 feet with a couple +'ers coming through every hour. Perfect size for this spot. It was also a bit crowded and the locals appeared pretty irritated. But I was able to mind my own business, surf with respect and get waves when I had a chance. I caught some really great waves during that session. One thing that I was perplexed about was whether to keep my starting line high or go straight down for the bottom turn. This wave is pretty fast when it's going, and a lot of guys were keeping their lines high to beat sections and then go low when the wave slowed down. But I was surfing with a lot of emotion that day and I just wanted to blow the lip up when I had a chance. But I missed a couple sections due to mindset which I was bummed about after seeing some of the pictures. My wife came along and took all of the pictures. She gave me some pointers, but she also knew that I was surfing with a purpose that day.

I'm not going to be all cliche and say that surfing healed all my wounds. Nothing can heal the loss of a parent but time. And that clock just keeps ticking and ticking. We have such a short time on this planet to experience life, and then we go back to where we came, where ever that place maybe, where ever you think it is. My father was a big believer in The Force, in part by how Star Wars defined it, but more central to the idea that we are part of a whole, and when we pass, we just transform and form another piece while another piece takes the place we left. I just hope that he is in peace, watching us on his flat screen TV, hopefully smiling and bull shitting with all his buddies. I hope he has his tent up and fire going, that he has his cargo pants on, his favorite tee-shirt with his silly Teevas on his feet as they are propped up by an old log that fell a millenniums ago. I hope he is sipping on cup of Joe watching time pass.