Old Dog, New Tricks

I’m not much of an athlete. I have friends – other parents – who play on soccer teams, or run in marathons, or go rock climbing. Some who’ve taken up tennis, or golf, or snowboarding. I’ve never been the kind of person who could pick up a new sport and be good at it, so with two kids and a part time job, I stick to the activities I know, ones that are so routine that they can be enjoyed with minimal prep time and no learning curve. I follow the same fall line down the same ski runs over and over; I’ve done the same yoga routine for eight years. Not much of a challenge, but not much an achievement either. Perhaps this explains the bizarrely enormous sense of accomplishment that I had last month when I learned to surf.

We were vacationing at Hanalei Bay and put our kid (ages 5 and 6) into a surfing lesson. They’ve had years of swimming instruction, and are accomplished on skis and scooters. We weren’t surprised that they were instantly good at it. It was amazing to see how quickly they were able to stand, with knees bent and arms held wide, and ride waves right onto the sand. Their father and I clapped each other on the back, congratulated ourselves on how wonderful our children are, and what good parents we must be, and ran around like lunatics as we tried to capture the perfect shot with the video camera.

I’m used to getting most of my validation through my children. No one ever says, “hey, you’re a great car-pooler” or “you do a hellava job making sure your family never runs out of toothpaste.” Unfortunately, these days I get my sense of accomplishment through my children’s achievements. Mia counted by tens to a thousand! Miles read a book!

In Kauai the kids floated over the waves again and again to shore, laughing manically, thirst and hunger forgotten, experiencing a joy more intense than with almost anything else they’ve ever done. They surfed in side by side on parallel boards, they rode in tandem on a long board, even on the shoulders of the instructor.

As I stood in the warm Hawaiian water, watching them, I had a crazy, insane, wild idea. It occurred to me that I could try it too. Yes, I, too, could have fun. When they finally needed a break for Gatorade and pretzels, I took a turn.

I got on the board, wobbled like mad, and slid off into sea. I got on again, wobbled again, and the water hit my face like a slap. My children laughed, and I’m sure many of the locals fishing on the pier. After many more slides, and mouthfuls of salt water, I finally got onto my knees. From there it was only a few more tries before I was able to stand – stand! – on the longboard. And then I was floating in the water with the instructor, who shouted “now” and gave me a push each time a good wave came in. And I stood on the water, balanced like a warrior two, and floated into shore.

I was jubilant.

That night, over dinner, the kids and I eagerly talked about getting our own surfboards, already planning the next time we could come to Hanalei Bay.

I was so proud. The feeling was all out of proportion to the two hundred yards that I actually surfed. But who cares?

As a parent I have very little time for myself. I try to squeeze in a yoga class each week – two if I’m lucky! – and have the occasional night out alone with my husband. Even when my children are asleep, it seems that most of my activities are centered around them – cleaning up the dinner dishes, packing lunches, folding laundry. Maybe it is finally time to make time for myself. Maybe it is time to take up some new sports. Maybe it is time to finally start my novel. The kids can make their own lunches. This old dog is going to learn some new tricks.