Years ago, I took a surfing lesson in Australia on a commercial day off. I arrived out of shape, addicted to cigarettes and nursing a hangover. After twenty minutes of thrashing by Aussie waves and taking on more water than The Orca at the end of “Jaws,” my instructor gently recommended I do the rest of my lesson from the safety of my hotel room.
Since then, I’ve had an aversion to the surfing arts. To paraphrase Robert Duvall, “Hamann don’t surf.”
As with most hard and fast rules of my life, Diana had other plans. We are currently on our make-up vacation in Mexico with the lovely Murphy/Green family (See my New Year’s Eve post for the gory details). Diana could sense this was her opportunity to finally turn our kids into characters from “Point Break.”
In the past, the kids have been satisfied with kiddie activities. Your basic sandcastle building and minor splashing/salt water tasting. But now, as Testosterone and Estrogen surge through their bodies, they yearn for more danger and less clothes.
When Diana suggested the kids take a surf lesson, I initially scoffed. Hamann don’t surf. But the kids were totally into it. So I did my best to ruin the fun by warning them that the chances they’d actually stand on the board was less than zero. Take it from my experience 16 years ago, kids. Surfing is brutal and you’ll hate it. Plus, don’t smoke.
Their instructor was a hilarious local who “pretended” to be tough, but no amount of order barking could hide the delight in his eyes. The kids participated in the on-land instructions with the appropriate teen sarcasm. Then it was off to the water.
They lined up in the surf and the instructor found the most perfect wave in the history of waves. The shoved Luca, who popped up. The sun broke through the clouds and the heavens sang “Good Vibrations.” Diana burst into tears.
The girls quickly followed suit. Each riding a wave and splitting their faces with gigantic smiles.
Then it was Eli’s turn. Surely, he’d prove me right. Hamann don’t surf. I was already preparing my Dad speech about the merits of quitting when he popped right up. His glorious mane floating in the Atlantic (Pacific?) air.
The kids rode wave after wave and made Hang Loose gestures and Diana cried her eyes out, saying this was the greatest day of her life.
I even emerged from the safety of my umbrella to shout and clap. I shouted and clapped so much that I got a bad sunburn. Which serves me right.
p.s. As you can see from the Elijah photo, a bottom exposing interloper named “Prancy Nancy” seemed determined to be decapitated by rookie surfers. The professional photographer managed to include her in almost every shot.
