Growing up as a surfer… you get started early. In this case 6 years old. Go for paddle outs with your ole man on his tanker.

When you graduate to going out on your own it’s with the ole man but on one of his other boards, not your own. And when you finally get your own board it is special made, it’s 6’0 but only as wide as the length of your arm so you can carry it to the beach by yourself.

The only way you go surfing is either with your dad or your mom takes you when the ole man is busy. Though eventually you get to go on your own. And because you live within walking distance to the beach, a nice point by the way, it’s not that difficult. As a matter of fact, the ole man makes you a rickshaw so the trip is made easy on your bicycle.

Surfing becomes virtually an everyday thing. So much so that when your dad comes home from work and needs you for something but you’re not home he knows right where you are. One of three locations along the point, where you always surf.

Your parents never worry about you being at the beach by yourself because your ole man has plenty surfer friends and they all know you and keep their eye on you when you’re surfing. So in reality you aren’t alone anyway.

As you grow up surfing is ingrained into who you are and what you do. Though you do other things you love the beach and most likely will always surf. And when you do, alot of the times it's with your ole man, just like when your were young.

A short story of my son Robin.

D.R.