The profound importance of Surfer Dads

"You pushed me in to it at just the right time. I felt the momentum of the wave and was shocked by its immediate power."

(Editor’s note: BeachGrit reader Nathan Reza sent the letter, below, following the death of his surfer dad on February 23. The kid wrote it as a high school project and, while going through his dad’s possessions, discovered he’d kept it. Reza asked if we might run the letter as a tribute to his old boy, sorely missed etc. What can I say, I get a little misty when it comes to kids, the passage of time, death.)

5:30am

“Do you still want to go?”

I’m not sure you realize how many times that question has played in my head over the years, and how much I think of what my life would have been if my answer was “no.”

The truth is, I really didn’t want to go. Watching Mad TV and playing Super Nintendo all night had me exhausted, but I didn’t want to disappoint you. The smell of chorizo burritos informed me that you’d been up for a while getting ready, so there was no turning back now. Saying “No,” I knew I would have regretted it the rest of the day. I’ll never forget the artificial street lights in the room, no sunlight yet. I was confused whether it was day or night.

You had me go in to the garage and fetch the boards to put in the back of your black Toyota pickup truck with the matching shell, the one with the heart drawn on the top and our names in the middle. It seemed like an easy job until I stepped outside barefoot into subzero weather.

I’ll never forget the smell of dawn that early in the morning; the fresh, dewy smell of the backyard as I made my way deeper in to the garage. I remember the feel of dusty wax on the boards, caked and black from sitting for years untouched. The boards we’d use that day were broken, trashed, yellow, missing fins, and useless by any standard. They were perfect. Then, I pulled out your miraculous blue Bark Surfboards’ “Rhino Chaser” in perfect condition with green fins. I threw them all in the back of the truck without a care of knocking them into each other or the further damage I was doing to them.

I remember church. The condition of letting us surf with you was that we had to wake up for church first, the 6:30am service. Maybe you thought that would deter us from pestering you about going. However, the night before, when we finally made the deal to go surfing, church seemed like a minor sidestep in what would be an exciting day. After standing and sitting and kneeling and shaking hands and faking going to the bathroom so I could step outside for the readings, we left the church and greeted fellow parishioners with small talk. The sun was fully out and the day once again had promise for some kind of adventure.

Straight to the donut shop we went for your morning coffee and our morning hot chocolate and donuts. This is when the adventure really started. I never knew how fun it could be to lay in the back of that Toyota with the boards. Laying on the carpet under the boards, I was in my own little world, replaying the opening scene of Big Wednesday in my head.

Up until that point, Ernie and I fought to the all the time for that front seat, but thank God you made the verdict that he was older and could have it. Laying under my surfboard fort, the smell of old wax and resin went perfectly with my hot chocolate and sprinkled donut. I remember the Skid Row tape we listen to on the way to the beach. At the highest volume possible we blasted 18 and Life and Youth Gone Wild on repeat until we were there. There’s not a time I listen to either of those songs without thinking of this morning.

We got to the Liquor store on the corner of PCH and Seal Beach Blvd. As we stepped out of the truck, the smell of fish from the bait and tackle shop next door hit us. It’s a smell that takes me back to this day. The fog was just beginning to rise. The navy ship in between Seal and Sunset was just coming in to view. The liquor store always had a huge box full of Sex Wax. I remember grabbing one as fast as I could, the smell of it, putting in on the boards & making the smell even more potent in the back of the truck. I fuckin love that smell!

We got to the beach in no time. And before I knew it we were standing in the jetty parking lot. The restaurant that stands today was an old fish market, the bathrooms weren’t renovated, and there was a peacefull quiet in the air. The fog came back down, making it impossible to see more than twenty feet down the beach. This didn’t seem to matter, and we headed along the rocks toward the ocean. No wetsuit, no booties, just swim trunks and our boards.

I didn’t mention that I couldn’t feel my feet on the freezing cold sand. The board was too wide for my arms, so I put it over my head and threw my towel over my shoulders as you lead us down the beach with your board under your arm and towel draped over your board. I’d never felt so cool. The nervousness grew as we got closer to the water, and I could only imagine how cold it was going to be. You turned back and noticed my shivering. “The water is warmer than the air, it’ll be fine.”

The tide was low, the wet sand was wide and the waves were small. Nothing intimidating and nothing to be afraid of, but the realization set in that I was actually going to do this. Terrified and cold, I walked out to the one-foot waves and did everything I could to get a wave, but couldn’t balance on the board to paddle more than a couple feet. I lost interest fast and I got out and played on the beach.

There were about six people on the beach getting ready to paddle out, only they were going in to the “real jetty.” We were surfing inside Crabs. I remember thinking to myself that they were crazy for waking up this early, coming to this freezing beach, and paddling in to the dense fog without knowing what was out there.

After watching on the beach for about fifteen minutes, I saw Ernie catch two white-water waves with you hooting from deeper water; this didn’t sit well with me. I grabbed my board and ran back in to the water. This time I got closer to you so you’d help me out. A bigger set came in and knocked me over. This happened another four times. I was audibly pissed at this point and ready to give up again. I made my way to you. You grabbed my board and said I needed to practice my duck dives, only you said it with the Australian accent from the movie North Shore, trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t amused.

As another wave came, you pushed me in to it at just the right time. I felt the momentum of the wave and was shocked by its immediate power. I made my way to one knee, then the other, then to my feet and caught it all the way to the beach. I’ll never be able to accurately put that feeling in to words but it was the most exciting feeling I’d ever had at this point in my life. I only got that single wave that day, but it was enough to send me running and jumping on the beach.

We got out and rinsed off in the longboarders’ area where there was a hose and a wooden stand for the boards. The walk back didn’t feel nearly as cold as the walk up. The dawn patrol guys were rinsing off and talking about their waves.

“Did you get any today?” one asked. “Ya! I got to my feet and rode all the way in!”

I’ll never forget you grin of happiness and pride when I looked back at you.

I can’t tell you what we did when we got home, what we had for dinner, or even what month or season it was. I remember every second of getting dressed in the parking lot, packing our boards back up and the ride home. That entire day was eclipsed by those moments: Skid Row, the smell of wax and the feeling of being a surfer for the first time.

That day has stayed with me my entire life, and is one of the best memories I have.

I love you and I miss you.

Thank you Dad.