circle of life

By: Pat Steele

Taking inventory after turning 71 last March. I never pictured myself getting old, which shows a flaw in my realistic view of life. I mistakenly had my reading glasses on when I went in front of the bathroom mirror. It became a five-minute viewing of Shock and no Awe.

Damn Man, put on more sunscreen!

Actually, the damage had already been done a long time ago. Surfing and Roofing had made a statement that Irish genes don’t work in SoCal. Besides the sun damage and wrinkles what was with the ear and eyebrow hair? Seriously? I’ve been out in public with a three-inch hair growing out of my ear like some vine trying to find sunlight? A couple of eyebrow hairs actually growing over my eyes and no hint from my vision that they were there? I learned a valuable lesson, don’t look if you can’t handle the truth.

My mind did a quick review of family photo albums.

Pictures of my first Communion, first bike, altar boy with my brother, Little league, Pop Warner, etc. all in black and white and looking like they belonged in the Smithsonian. I remember that little guy putting on his jeans and Converse tennis shoes after shucking his Catholic school uniform. Blissfully ignorant.

If you live long enough, life becomes a circle.

This realization hit me smack in the face the other day. As I walked back home from surfing, I came to the conclusion that I was a Kook again. I am now the white-haired guy that I used to look at when I was younger and think, ‘Hang it up, Old Timer.’ Oh, I have excuses: groin injury, lockdown, red tide have all been my excuses for a first-month layoff. Ironically as I have aged it is hard to lie to myself. Basically, my own BS doesn’t fly. My ability has deteriorated. At 71, I’ve decided to accept the painful reality. Grudgingly. One day surfing with one of my granddaughters, I had the urge to say, ‘Ya know at one time I was a good surfer.’ I didn’t say it. What does that have to do with anything? Just trying to pacify my ego, which has taken so many hits already, what’s one more.

I started surfing in 1962. Boards were double glassed, heavy and no rocker. No leashes but I doubt that they could have held up with the heavy boards. Fins were huge making turning difficult for an 80-pound beginner. If you fell you swam. Did I mention no wetsuits? It was a year before I tried going backside. With no rocker, boards would easily pearl. Throw into the mix an angry bunch of older locals. It took years to become adept. Once I became proficient on a longboard, the shortboard revolution began in 1967 which meant another learning curve, again without leashes. You fall, you swim. There was nothing that could deter me.

Since I never connected with school after graduating High School, ‘Turn On, Tune In and Drop Out’ seemed like a logical option. Timothy Leary became my mentor. This option didn’t pan out either. Being incoherent didn’t work well with surfing. Shocker! My parents were responsible, religious and thoroughly disappointed with my life choices. Sorta can’t blame them who wants a long-haired hippy son with no direction other than riding waves?

Part time job as a brick mason’s helper and plenty of time to surf North County’s numerous breaks, seemed perfect to me. Tired of the solo hermit life, I started looking for female companionship. There were requirements though. She had to meet the high standard my Mom had set. She would have to convey guilt with a look or a sigh upon command.

After a relatively short search, I met a tough Texan chick that wouldn’t put up with any BS. It was perfect. I had no plans and she had a million of them. I taught her how to surf, so she understood my career as a surf bum. She was ambitious and I was tunnel vision on not missing any good swell. How could this not work out? Like any of my other relationships, if it didn’t work out I would just ghost her. Ghosting was a lot easier without cell phones.

It was a glorious few months, she was working full time and I was working the absolute minimum. My wave count was ridiculous. After an evening glass off, I came home to an unusual tension. She said calmly, ‘Just wanted to let you know I’m going to raise the baby myself.’ Baby?! What baby?! And wait a minute, you’re not raising my kid by yourself! After those words came out of my mouth, I realized the life I once knew was over. Responsibility reared its ugly head. Some dormant gene I’m sure I inherited from my reliable parents kicked in. I decided to push all my chips in and ride the horse in the direction it was going.

The days my sons were born were the highlights of my life. Surfing for the first time took a backseat. I latched on to the first job that was available, roofing. It was great, I could work with my shirt off and get all the sun damage that I missed while surfing. My Dermatologist loves me, she basically hit the motherlode.

After 47 years of roofing, I retired. My sons are successful with families. Just me and the wifey. After 49 years, I still find her attractive and interesting. Everyday she makes me laugh and pisses me off. One of the percentages is a lot higher than the other. I don’t know what I would do without her.

"I’M WORKING ON A STORY! I CAN’T HEAR YOU WHEN YOU YELL FROM ANOTHER ROOM! I TOOK THE TRASH OUT ALREADY!"

Sorry you had to hear that, I do love her.

Most of the time, anyway.