Aloha

I think everyone is a mixture of things. Experiences, preferences, what have you! Just like one of my favorite movies if you allow me to be simplistic, The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Cue that music please. My 4 year old loves that theme song. God, I’ve warped him already….

One of the things I’ve discovered about the blogging experience is it has made me more of a reflection oriented person. Once I write it, I go back to it and wonder what I was thinking and how effective I was at conveying at those thoughts.

As I looked over my earlier posts I was wondering if my reporting was fair and unbiased. LOL. Am I only presenting one side of the coin? This concerned me. Allow me to share some stepping stones that brought me to the mostly decent, compassionate person that I am. Most of the time. The thing about us as people is that we can rewind rapidly. This can be nice and it can be nasty.

As I mentioned earlier I grew up in close proximity to the coast. I loved the beach life style and it really formed my identity as a young guy. As a high school guy and directly after, I grew up in tempestuous times. It was an era that supplanted the peace and brotherhood eras of the 60’s and 70’s. I dwelled in surf turf wars. I was a willing combatant. A misguided sense of local pride and protection did not evolve me as a young person.

The battles were quaint really when viewed in the modern eras tales of drive-bys and senseless drug fueled mayhem. But to minimize them would be negating the negative impact of my actions.

My part of coastal California from Rincon to Jalama was at war with the surfers of Los Angeles County. We had a truce with most of Ventura County. We were allies of surfers in San Diego County. We hated surfers from Los Angeles with an unabridged contempt. We didn’t go down there and they were not expected to interject themselves into our home turf.

But how could we tell? A guy with a wetsuit and surfboard is pretty non descript you would think. Ahhh not so. Like gang colors of these times, we had our colors. Our turf never rode anything but clear, neutral colored surfboards. Any splash of color was verboten and not going with the program. Wetsuits were also basic in nature, you only wore a black wetsuit. In our ignorance, the world truly was black and white.

So with this differentiation established, interlopers stuck out like sore thumbs. Initially they would get a dose a “stink eye”. If this wasn’t effective, loud curses exhorting the visitor to split were given laced with vile obscenities. If this wasn’t met with compliance, it was time for direct action.

My style as a juvenile was ruthless. I was a mess. I had buried a lot of anger just below the surface and my fuse wasn’t short, it was microscopic. I had no reluctance to take things into my own hands to represent my coastal tribe. It was an expectation the older, more seasoned guys had of us.

If the situation got nasty in the water I would call the guy off to haul his ass onto the beach. Size is deceptive sitting or paddling on a surfboard in the surfline. When I strode out of the water and onto the beach I was formidable. 6-5 and 210 lbs of misguided malevolent, issue drenched male. I liked the sensation of beating someone’s ass. I didn’t even mind getting my face punched. Somehow it was reaffirming in some twisted fashion.

I did not lose. There was too much riding on it and too many eyes watching. The vanquished would split and despite my condition I would be a celebrity of some sort.
I liked the notoriety and the false sense of camaraderie. It was good to belong.

Rincon - Queen of the Coast

One time changed that. It happened as it always did. A hassle, bad vibes and the inevitable call out to the beach. As my next encounter got to the shoreline and I laid my board down and gave the familiar gesture of my arms spread wide in an invitation of here I am pal. We engaged and I was hitting my stride. I had delivered a series of quick blows to his face with the expected results. He was on both knees struggling. This really made me want to conclude the issue and send him packing. As I was gathering up reserve energies, I heard a shriek that stopped me cold.

This enemy, this villian, this non person had someone who was terrified at what was occurring. It was a young woman no more than 20 or 22 years old. She was clutching a little girl close to her and watching someone they both loved get hurt. I, to my dying day, will not forget the look on both of their faces. I stopped what I was doing cold. I picked up my board and stood by my moments ago victim. I didn’t say anything I just looked at him. It was like I was looking at myself. I was lashing out for no good reason at all. He slowly rose and I just said, “Dude, I’m sorry.” He justifiably said, “Fuck you asshole”, and left with the two people I mentioned earlier. I watched them walk unmolested the whole way up into the parking lot.

I walked over to where the hightide line was. I set my board down and started to cry. People mostly left me alone. A couple of the older guys came by to talk to me and I told them to leave me alone. I sat there for about three hours until the sun went down and dusk descended on the beach. I was hoping that the dusk would provide some sense of cover, but it did not.

That’s the last time I fought over surfing. I started crying again as I drove the 25 miles north up the coast. People looked at me like I was tripping. Just another drug addled surf bum. My dad joked about another hard day at the office, I didn’t smile I just nodded.

The next day I spoke to this about to the owner of the surf shop I worked at. He looked at me and shut the door to the store. He put the closed sign out and invited me back into the shaping room. He told me about the spirit of Aloha and how it isn’t what you have in life it is what you share. He was half-Hawaiian and pure surfer. He knew of the old days when sharing was the norm. I started misting up again and he said something to me that I have tried to hang on to since then, “There is a way to be good again.” I instantly grasped what he was saying and more importantly what he was feeling.

From that time I tried my best to be an ambassador of aloha in the water. I would share waves and not get down on people. If someone lost their board on a wave, I would take it back out with me. The perplexed looks would often be followed by some great smiles. It was a good deal.

I’m pretty sure that this event compelled me to choose the career I have followed and loved. Some inner sense of required atonement. The knowledge that I can revert to some less evolved person if I don’t maintain vigilance truly frightens me. I hate that person as I look back on him. He seems foreign and monsterous but he, in his blind fury, did help me on my way. I remind myself of the journey we all take in life.

Aloha ………...