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Jack surfs
I started to mind
Jack took his longboard out to the Oceanside Pier.
My husband Jack surfs. He started surfing in his early 20s, in college, with his friend Brian. Brian was Bridget’s brother. Bridget was Jack’s first true love. I think for Jack surfing will always be tied to his memories of college and having the beautiful blonde girlfriend and having time that belonged only to himself.
Jack kept surfing after college. During his late 20s and early 30s, Jack surfed pretty much whenever he wanted. He called in late for work, took long lunches, and left work early if the waves were big. Jack still talks wistfully about the year he lived on Nautilus Street in La Jolla. At night if he left his bedroom window open. Jack could hear the surf building a block away at Windansea. On an ideal day, he would surf for three or four hours in the morning, come home and eat a huge lunch, fall asleep in front of the television or down on the beach, then go out again for the evening glass off.
I met Jack when he was 33.1 knew he surfed, but his surfing didn’t interfere with our courtship. He went out early in the morning or late in the afternoon. He was always done in time to take me out for the evening.
Nine months after our first date, Jack surfed on our honeymoon. We went to Hawaii. During our four days on Kauai, Jack rented a surfboard and went out at the reef break directly in front of our hotel. I sat on the beach and watched. He asked me to take pictures of him. I didn’t have a telephoto lens. The photos in our honeymoon album of Jack surfing show a small dark blob on a longer dark blob in amongst some head-high blue-green and white waves.
I didn’t mind Jack’s surfing when we first got married. During the week 1 worked long hours as an attorney. Saturdays and Sundays, Jack would disappear for three or four hours in the morning. 1 would sleep in, read the paper, and go for a run.
When our first daughter, Rebecca, was bom a year after our wedding, I started to mind. I didn’t like Jack’s surfing buddies calling at 11 at night or 6 in the morning to see if he wanted to go out. I didn’t like him being gone for so long. Jack would come home from a Sunday-morning surf session to find me pacing the kitchen and fuming. “I don’t understand why it takes you so long to surf,” I would tell him. “You said you’d only be gone for a couple hours. You were gone for three and a half. I’m here by myself with Rebecca all week. The least you could do is give me a break on the weekend.”
“I tried to get in sooner,” Jack would explain. “But I wanted to get one more ride. I waited and waited for the right wave. And the whole time I knew you’d be mad at me. So I didn’t have a good time anyway.”
In the eight and a half years Jack and I have been married, he has surfed less and less. The birth of three more children and the corresponding responsibilities of fatherhood have coaxed Jack, sometimes reluctantly, into adulthood. He helps a lot with our four children — seven-year-old Rebecca, five-year-old Angela, three-year-old Lucy, and almost-two-year-old Johnny. These days, Jack only goes surfing once or twice a month. He laughs about how his body has changed and how his age has affected his place in the lineup. “I used to curse the fat old men on longboards who sat outside and picked off the good waves,” Jack told me a few years ago. “Now I am one.”
Last Sunday evening, Jack took his longboard out to the Oceanside Pier. His parents were in town visiting. As we sat around our house in San Marcos Sunday afternoon deciding where to go to dinner, Jack said, “Let’s go to Marie Callender’s on Palomar Airport Road. After dinner, we can go up to the Oceanside Pier and you guys can watch me surf.” Jack turned to his parents. “You’ve never seen me surf.”
After an early dinner, we drove up the coast and parked just south of the pier. Standing beside the car, Jack changed into his dark blue trunks and a bright blue rash guard. “This way you’ll be able to pick me out more easily,” he explained to his parents.
A few minutes later, we stood on the pier. Jack’s parents and I tried to keep the kids from throwing themselves off the pier into the water to join Jack. When we spotted Jack’s bright blue body bobbing upright on his board right beside the pier, the kids all yelled, “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Daddy,” over and over again.
Jack waved back a little sheepishly. He waited for five minutes, then paddled into a medium-sized wave that broke about halfway down the pier’s length. We watched Jack glide by, riding the face for a short way before he dove off his board and surfaced right below us. “Daddy, cats anod-der won,” Johnny yelled.
“He will,” I told Johnny, and held him tighter in the cool evening air.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Jack surfs
I started to mind
Jack surfs
I started to mind
Jack took his longboard out to the Oceanside Pier.
My husband Jack surfs. He started surfing in his early 20s, in college, with his friend Brian. Brian was Bridget’s brother. Bridget was Jack’s first true love. I think for Jack surfing will always be tied to his memories of college and having the beautiful blonde girlfriend and having time that belonged only to himself.
Jack kept surfing after college. During his late 20s and early 30s, Jack surfed pretty much whenever he wanted. He called in late for work, took long lunches, and left work early if the waves were big. Jack still talks wistfully about the year he lived on Nautilus Street in La Jolla. At night if he left his bedroom window open. Jack could hear the surf building a block away at Windansea. On an ideal day, he would surf for three or four hours in the morning, come home and eat a huge lunch, fall asleep in front of the television or down on the beach, then go out again for the evening glass off.
I met Jack when he was 33.1 knew he surfed, but his surfing didn’t interfere with our courtship. He went out early in the morning or late in the afternoon. He was always done in time to take me out for the evening.
Nine months after our first date, Jack surfed on our honeymoon. We went to Hawaii. During our four days on Kauai, Jack rented a surfboard and went out at the reef break directly in front of our hotel. I sat on the beach and watched. He asked me to take pictures of him. I didn’t have a telephoto lens. The photos in our honeymoon album of Jack surfing show a small dark blob on a longer dark blob in amongst some head-high blue-green and white waves.
I didn’t mind Jack’s surfing when we first got married. During the week 1 worked long hours as an attorney. Saturdays and Sundays, Jack would disappear for three or four hours in the morning. 1 would sleep in, read the paper, and go for a run.
When our first daughter, Rebecca, was bom a year after our wedding, I started to mind. I didn’t like Jack’s surfing buddies calling at 11 at night or 6 in the morning to see if he wanted to go out. I didn’t like him being gone for so long. Jack would come home from a Sunday-morning surf session to find me pacing the kitchen and fuming. “I don’t understand why it takes you so long to surf,” I would tell him. “You said you’d only be gone for a couple hours. You were gone for three and a half. I’m here by myself with Rebecca all week. The least you could do is give me a break on the weekend.”
“I tried to get in sooner,” Jack would explain. “But I wanted to get one more ride. I waited and waited for the right wave. And the whole time I knew you’d be mad at me. So I didn’t have a good time anyway.”
In the eight and a half years Jack and I have been married, he has surfed less and less. The birth of three more children and the corresponding responsibilities of fatherhood have coaxed Jack, sometimes reluctantly, into adulthood. He helps a lot with our four children — seven-year-old Rebecca, five-year-old Angela, three-year-old Lucy, and almost-two-year-old Johnny. These days, Jack only goes surfing once or twice a month. He laughs about how his body has changed and how his age has affected his place in the lineup. “I used to curse the fat old men on longboards who sat outside and picked off the good waves,” Jack told me a few years ago. “Now I am one.”
Last Sunday evening, Jack took his longboard out to the Oceanside Pier. His parents were in town visiting. As we sat around our house in San Marcos Sunday afternoon deciding where to go to dinner, Jack said, “Let’s go to Marie Callender’s on Palomar Airport Road. After dinner, we can go up to the Oceanside Pier and you guys can watch me surf.” Jack turned to his parents. “You’ve never seen me surf.”
After an early dinner, we drove up the coast and parked just south of the pier. Standing beside the car, Jack changed into his dark blue trunks and a bright blue rash guard. “This way you’ll be able to pick me out more easily,” he explained to his parents.
A few minutes later, we stood on the pier. Jack’s parents and I tried to keep the kids from throwing themselves off the pier into the water to join Jack. When we spotted Jack’s bright blue body bobbing upright on his board right beside the pier, the kids all yelled, “Hi, Daddy. Hi, Daddy,” over and over again.
Jack waved back a little sheepishly. He waited for five minutes, then paddled into a medium-sized wave that broke about halfway down the pier’s length. We watched Jack glide by, riding the face for a short way before he dove off his board and surfaced right below us. “Daddy, cats anod-der won,” Johnny yelled.
“He will,” I told Johnny, and held him tighter in the cool evening air.
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