Surfing Proves there is a God, dude.
June 1996
I now, finally, have proof that there is indeed a God who takes a personal interest in my life and is willing to manipulate the physical world for me. I also now have proof that this same God has a wicked sense of humor. The evidence manifests itself in my (attempts at?) surfing.
I used to think surfing was very much like any other endeavor one masters in life: a very gradual, very constant increase in learning the various skills and closing the feedback loops required for proficiency in the said endeavor. I have to be careful not to laugh coffee out my nose when I now think this about surfing. It is now obvious to me that this "progression" is neither upward nor linear. In fact, I'm convinced that an active deity is employed, even entertained, with wreaking aquatic havoc with my attempt at a new hobby. I am ever more likely to "Catch a Tube" surfing, not by shooting through a tunnel of a breaking wave, but by having IV's needled in my arm and oxygen hoses jammed under my nose.
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Lesson 1: The Joys of Low-Altitude Hang Gliding
(from Feb 1992, Huntsville, AL)
Lesson 1 takes place on a small practice hill. One starts out running with a hang glider on one's back at the flat field at the bottom. This allows him/her to learn how it feels and how to handle the glider. As one's handling proficiency increases, he/she gradually starts running from farther and farther up the hill. One can achieve higher and higher speeds. At first, the glider produces only enough lift to lift the glider. This makes it easier to run. As more speed is attained the glider produces more and more lift, tugging on the pilot's harness more and more until the pilot is lifted off the ground.
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Reconnoitering the SeaWorld shop where my son would hold his first job, I lock eyes with a gentleman in his sixties standing a couple feet from me. He grins a big grin, I grin back. He says hi. I say hi back. He's a little different. More eager, more friendly than typical. Looking closer, he's dressed a little haphazardly. We small talk enthusiastically. I walk forward, chatting, to follow Dash who is a couple steps ahead. Ahh, he's - I don't know the most appropriate term now - "differently abled." Needing guardianship? That explains the very friendly. I talk next to his friend by his side. Ask how he's doing. They are a group of six or seven. They are enjoying their stay.
I talk to someone with them but off to the side a bit. Seems in charge. "Where are you from?'' "Bellweather." Where? "Bellweather." "Where is that?" "Out of town." I can't make this guy out, so I just give a hearty "Well, welcome!" and turn to catch up with Dash, who is watching.
I hear behind me "Well, he was nice!"
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