This looks a lot like my oldest son, somewhere off the coast of Marin. Starting at an age much earlier than I would have preferred, he learned how to paddle way out into the violent Pacific surf, and ride the waves back toward shore, where I sometimes waiting anxiously.
Just sometimes, because he went surfing many more times than those few when I was present. Being a parent is not easy when you are standing helplessly on some windswept beach, and your kid is out there, fighting the power of the ocean, the presence of great white sharks, and the possibility of mistakes.
On one occasion, a monster wave tore his surfboard in half, but he made it to shore. On another, as all the other creatures nearby (mainly sales) started freaking out and streaked away as fast as they could, he recognized that a big shark had no doubt entered the area.
I cannot even begin to express how much I respect him and his courage, hanging off a board out there, off the very edge of this great continent. He is a good example of the idea that our children push out further than we ever could have gone ourselves.
Me, I've swum in the shallow waters of the ocean on the few days over the past few decades when the temperature was so high that the freezing Pacific felt tolerable. Yep, compared to him, I'm a wimp.
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