They Sure Do Grow Fast

Seven years ago, after I gave birth to Catalina, Michael and I would take her out to allow the public to ooh and ahh over our precious baby girl.  After a while, we could always tell the veteran parents from the others; they would start with the same smile shared by everyone else, but it would slowly evolve into a knowing smirk and a far-off look, presumably picturing their own grown children.  Then came the Mother (ha ha, get it?) of all cliches: "Enjoy it while you can because it will be over before you know it.  Kids, they sure do grow fast."

I knew they were right.  Even when Catalina was an infant, we were always taken aback by how fast babies develop.  In a blink of an eye, their first smile. Blink: their first words.  Blink: their first "I love you."  Then we take them to the zoo and to supervised swimming lessons at the Y; we take them camping--but nowhere with bears; we take them to the beach and play in the sand and watch their daddies surf; we take them to their first day of school and cry in the parking lot because we can't be there with them.  Blink: "Daddy, when is it my turn to surf?"  Wait.  What?  You mean, in the ocean?

Michael teaches Catalina some surfing techniques;
Sydney tries to get in on the action

Last Friday, Michael took Catalina for her first surfing lesson.  We rented her a bright yellow foam board.  It seemed twice as big as Catalina.  From the board rental place to the beach, it's about a five minute walk via a path surrounded by broad-leafed trees and bushels of hanging green bananas.  We usually concentrate on looking up so we can catch another monkey sighting; doing this also takes our minds off of the tropical heat that sets in by nine in the morning and lasts until sundown.  This time, though, there could have been a hundred monkeys doing trapeze acrobatics on the vines, and Catalina would not have noticed a thing.  Sydney and I watched from behind as Catalina skipped and hopped over roots and rocks to get to where she could finally see the waves.

When we reached the water, Catalina stared out to sea just for a moment.  She saw a few other surfers out there, and raised her arms in the air to congratulate a few of them on their rides.  I should explain that, back in California, Catalina and I had talked about how daddy can't hear us when he's way out there in the ocean.  So when he gets a good ride, we raise both fists in the air and punch the sky, a visual celebration of a job well done.  At first, she did this to almost every surfer out there who caught any sort of wave at all.  Most of them either didn't know what she was doing or were playing it cool with no response, but there were a few who smiled in appreciation and gave a quick wave.

She's going out there?!

Catalina's first day out was a good day for a kook (a term meaning a beginning surfer; although, I like it even less now that my daughter is one of them).  The waves were small enough to keep the veteran surfers out of the water and to be more manageable for little kids.  There were times, though, when the swell picked up.  "Those waves," I thought, "they sure do grow fast."  As I kept my mommy-paranoia hidden, Michael gave Catalina a few quick lessons on the theory of surfing, and a couple of short practice sessions on the sand, teaching Catalina to hop quickly onto the board ("one fluid motion").  My job was to accomplish two feats: (1) getting pictures of Catalina's experience and (2) keeping Sydney from running too deeply into the water.  I had Sydney sit in the sand, just far enough to allow the waves to lap at her occasionally.  I kept one eye in the viewfinder, and one foot on Sydney's sandy bottom.

Needless to say, Catalina did wonderfully her first time out.  She rode the large board on her own like it was a boogie board.  The next day, she was eager to go out again.  I had no camera this time, and at first I was relieved to not have to worry about getting the shot and holding onto a baby.  Sydney and I had found a small thatched hut to get out of the sun, and we played in the sand as our two favorite surfers went into the water.

Blink: then it happened.

I don't know why I looked up when I did; either out of the habit of keeping track of both children at all times or out of interest in how Catalina was doing.  But there she was.  My tall, skinny, 40-pound little girl standing up, gliding across the water.  I jerked up to my feet and pointed, "Look at your sister, Sydney!"  In slow motion, an upright Catalina drifted to the shoreline, jumped into the shallow water, steadied her board, and looked towards our hut.  She beamed as both my fists punched the air as high as they could go.  She waved, turned her board back towards her awaiting father, and got a big surfer's hug.

As of this publication, Catalina has been out four times (everyday since her first), and her doodles at home have gone from butterflies and caterpillars to "I Love Surfing" in fancy lettering and pictures of waves.

Me? I'm afraid to blink.  What's next?

The next Clark-Reed surfer