I watch my teen son surf with trepidation. As a non-swimmer, my heart pounds as I stand on the beach, knowing that if something happens, I can’t save him. I scold him to stay in front of lifeguard towers or near other surfers, to come out when the lifeguards leave for the day. I can’t relax when he’s in the water; I don’t dare bury my nose in a book. He understands and respects the ocean, and he’s a strong swimmer, but I’m always conscious that it is bigger than him, and like so many other aspects of life, completely out of my control.
Swimming against the current is nothing new for him. He’s the kind of kid who came out of the womb with an opinion on the delivery, whose adolescent rebellion will probably pass unnoticed, since he’s been defending his opinions – generally contrary to mine — since he could talk. If the entire family roots for the Giants, he cheers on the Dodgers. He will sport an “America” jersey while the rest of us cheer for “Las Chivas.” We squabble about politics, policy, and the value of homework. As much as I wish I could freeze him in childhood forever, I also anxiously await the day that the difficulties of school and chores are behind us and we can just enjoy each other’s company.
Like many teens, he listens more closely to men who aren’t his father, and under their tutelage, he’s learned to lay cement, hang drywall, shingle a roof, refine his golf game, play the guitar, study for tests, and of course, surf. He’s astute about seeking out mentors, and has a knack for finding people who will see him as more than the sum total of unfinished homework or unfolded laundry.
Recently, my son sought out one of his mentors, a beloved former teacher, for a surfing date. They made plans to meet at Ocean Beach on a Friday afternoon. The waves were high that day, averaging around seven feet, and both he and I were nervous about him going out under those conditions. Still, he was game, knowing that he had a mentor in the water who’d watch his back if the going got rough. After all, this was a man who’d had his back since middle school. He’d never cut my son any slack, always insisted on receiving his best work, and scolded him as necessary. But he was also the man who, when my son was diagnosed with ADD, told him, “I took meds from 4th grade until I finished high school, and that’s the reason I’m sitting in this chair now. Do what you’ve got to do to be successful.”
Those were the magic words that made it easy for my son to accept the idea of taking medication. In later conversations with the teacher, he told me about being diagnosed when ADHD was a relatively new concept and medications weren’t refined, how hard school had been for him, and how committed he was to making sure no student of his ever felt that misunderstood. It was clear he’d done his share of swimming against the current.
Now, I watched them paddle out. The waves were higher than any my son had ever surfed, but beyond them, the sea was smoother and more manageable. Far into the ocean, experienced surfers caught wave after wave. My son, smaller and lacking strength, couldn’t make it past the roughest waves into easier waters. Instead, he was knocked down countless times. I expected him to bring his board in and call it a day, but he gamely paddled forward. He never made it into deeper water, but he eventually mastered the current, riding enough big waves to put a grin on his face.
I watched his former teacher, mentor, fellow traveler on difficult paths. Taller and stronger, he made it past the roughest part of the water, deeper into the ocean where the waves didn’t batter him as fiercely as they did my tiny son. He repeatedly caught waves, perched on his board seemingly effortlessly. I knew he’d had to paddle hard against the current to get as far out as he had, relying on strength he’d built up over time and I knew it wasn’t as easy as he made it look.
Watching him, I was filled with hope. I could see a glimpse of the future. As my son grows, he will continue to swim against the current, but eventually, like his mentor, he’ll be strong enough to make it past the roughest patches, to where the waves are manageable. He’ll learn to read the waves and use them to his advantage. Despite the struggle, despite being knocked down repeatedly, he will stand, and the resulting ride will bring him joy.
