Flying (standard:adventure, 1043 words)
Author: surfermike	Added: Jan 27 2002	Views/Reads: 3529/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
story of (me) a youth surfing in Southern California in the 60's, and his relationship with his father.

...FLYING... 

My father was bigger than life.  When I was a teenager and starting to
feel awkward and strange, my dad was there for me.  He was six-foot 
one, slim, and tanned with good teeth and good posture.  I would mimic 
him as we walked together on the street.  His name was Burt, and some 
days I felt like we were one person.  The conversation was always 
positive, even when it was painfull.  He was interested in me.  School, 
girlfriend, football, and of course surfing.  He was never 
condesending. "How could he be so interested in me?" I wondered. I was 
a boy, and didn't know how a father could love.  I do now.  I would ask 
about sex, and he stayed calm and gave me such valuable feedback. "Be 
gentle son.  No, means no.  Kiss her hair, compliment her, listen." 

I was a High School football Quarterback in Los Angeles.  All City in my
junior and senior years'. "You'll have enemies Michael.  Just 
concentrate, and use those beautifull physicall gifts, and lead the 
team.  After the game, be gracious in victory and defeat." 

Surfing was the center of my world.  I lived to surf,  My father never
surfed, but he knew what it meant to me.  In Souther California in the 
late 60's, a person just had to be alert to catch the bi-product of the 
surfing culture.  It was everywhere.  My friends were slim, tanned and 
beautifull.  There were days when time on the Pacific Ocean stood 
still. One June day the waves were comming in large rambling sets.  A 
day a big-wave surfer prays and can only hope for. It was near dusk, 
and I had been out for hours riding one tube after the other.  I sat on 
my board and watched the sun setting into the western sky.  Brilliant 
colors shot out in all directions.  Blue, pink, grey, white, and as I 
watched everything slowed down.  I felt I could hear my eyelids 
blinking in a 'swoosh' across my blue eyes.  My head seemed on a swivel 
and my mind was like crystal.  For a few brief seconds I knew 
everything.  From the inside out, not from the outside in.  My place in 
the world, parents, sex, the Vietnam war, surfing.  It all made sense 
for just a moment.  That moment of comeplete clarity. 

I heard my friend Jackson yell out, "Mike, look!"  He was pointing to
the sets in the distance.  They were huge.  Perpaps 30 feet or more. 
This was it.  A small box in a big world, to shine for an instant, and 
I was not going to miss it.  Life sped up again, the anticipation was 
enormus.  I sprung up on the first wave of the set, and it was a 
monster.  It felt 'humanlike' ordering me to challange it.  I did. I 
sprung to my feet, and up onto my board in an instant.  I flashed down 
the face, crouched low.  It was at least thirty feet from top to froth. 
 I could see the glare of the pink sunset in the blue monstor, as I 
stood up, I watched the white streak my board was leaving on the face 
of my wave.  I wanted to yell out, but I was grinning too wide.  I 
tasted the salt water, and then I did yell out.  I screamed, and it was 
bliss.  Like an orgasism or perhaps childbirth. I was shouting at the 
universe telling it how perfect this moment was.  The sound of the wake 
above me was louder, as the wave was about to collapse onto me.  I 
turned sharply to to the right, and out the back.  I was airborn, 
flying like the eagles, with my board twirling behind me attached to my 
ankle by a bungee cord.  When you throw a tennis ball in the air to 
serve, there is an instant when the ball no longer rises or falls.  One 
moment, no gravity.  I was flying that day, and for a brief instant I 
stopped in the air.  It was beautifull and free.  Then, I crashed into 
the ocean.  What a trip! 

I paddled back to the group.  I was fighting back tears, not only
because I had that wonderfull visual experience, but it was that 
ultimate ride.  My friend Jackson yelled at me. "Michael, bitchen ride 
man!  You're a surfer Mike." His fist was in the air pumping and so 
were the rest of the group. I couldn't speak, I just grinned and fisted 
them back.  God, I loved this. 

Later that night I tried to explain my feelings to a girl named Rosey.
We ate Cheesburgers and I rambled on, about flying freedom and the sky. 
She was bored, and wanted to leave.  We went to Seal Beach and made out 
in the back seat of my dad's car.  I drove Rosie home, and as I flew 
down the Harbour Freeway, I thought of what a wonderfull day I had 
experienced.  Wonderfull California day.  How could adults understand 
any of this? 

I went into my fathers' bedroom.  It was late, but I shook him. "I need
to talk," I whispered. "Can you get up? I know it's late." We went into 
my bedroom and sat on the bed.  He looked so sleepy, but he sat and 
listened.  I talked steady, for what seemed like a long time.  I told 
him how I had flown, and saw that light show, and cried, and made out 
in his car.  As I talked I stood and flayed my arms around to express 
myself.  He just watched, and his eyes never left mine. I could see him 
grinning and nodding.  I just stopped talking.  I had said it all.  We 
sat in silence for a few moments then he said. "Did you treat Rosie 
with respect son?" "Yes," I answered, "I do respect her, did you know 
she is a grade A student?" He reached out and grabbed me close, and 
whispered, "Thank God you were born Michael.  I'm glad you woke me up, 
now get some sleep, and do it again tomorrow." I went into my room and 
layed on my bed.  I looked at my slim tanned body.  I had the world, 
and all it's riches.  I was sixteen. 


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