Chiiku Dance?

So my parents have a lot of weird friends. I'm still not entirely sure how they met the Lindings, but it's a thing. Shawn and Sylvia Linding are sailors about my age (late 20's) and they're from Taiwan. They're really cool people, and I connected with them pretty quickly on Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli films and video games. Nerd things. The two of them sailed from California to Okinawa to Taiwan in the past, and have some amazing stories. The following probably doesn't compare, but given their background, it does save me face to say they thought the waves were really freakin' big. I went sailing with them.
I didn't just go sailing with them, but one day out of the blue, they visited and randomly asked if I had plans for the weekend. Studying for my next IT cert and playing video games doesn't really add up to plans, so I said no. Shawn asked me if I'd like to go sailing, and I accepted, wholeheartedly. I love adventure. They planned on sailing in a regatta race from Ginowan Port to Ie Island. I had never been so I was pretty stoked. We left Saturday morning at about 6:00 AM. I drove to the marina and saw the boat we'd be racing on.

Mr. Shimizu's (Shimizu-San, the captain) Croque Madame II, was gorgeous. I thought so anyway. The crew was Sylvia, Shawn, Alex Hsu, (another visitor) Shimizu-San and I. We took off and, oh... I have to go back to go forward.
The night before, I had just found out I got a new job. My friends Andrew and Jessica Morales were in town from the mainland, (namely Misawa) and we went drinking. I love those two, they are the right couple for just about any situation. After hitting Infiniti and Eclipse, we went karaoking. There was about seven of us, I don't remember exactly due to the fact that I was HAMMERED. We continued to drink until it was finally just me and Monkey, (my friend Chris) and him and I sang and drank until the bell rang and our time was up. I was just outside my house from the night's debauchery, maybe 45 paces from the door, when Aki, a bartender from Eclipse crossed our path and said he's headed to Hard Reef. Hard Reef is right outside my house. It's a surfer bar that's kinda grimy but fun. He persuaded my drunk booty to get some shots to cap off the night. I think by the end I'd had habu sake, tequila, dark beer, various other liquors and awamori sake. Not a great mix, especially considering the morning held a day of sailing. I don't remember getting back to my house, but I remember waking up in my bed.


Pretty much how I saw everything the next morning.....

Shawn and Sylvia were staying at my house during their visit, and woke me up around 6. I drove to the docks, and we hopped on the Croque Madame. As we sailed off, I slowly began to realize what a mistake the previous night was...



The waves shot up about 100 yards outside the reef drop-off, and continued to get bigger. Pretty soon, my stomach was turning with them and I had to puke. I told the captain, and he pointed to the back of the boat. For a solid hour, I threw up one alcohol after the next, until I got to the dark beer that started the night. It was the worst, and looked like engine oil. I threw up so much, nothing was left in my stomach. I continued to sail with them, manned a winch and took in the breeze. About five hours into the cruise, I fell asleep. I was so tired from throwing up, and I got only a couple of hours of sleep, I fell into a slumber on ~two meter waves.


I slept the final three hours of the regatta until we had the island in sight.

The other sailboats were all already in, and we were one of five boats to remain in the "DNF" (did not finish) section of the regatta. The boats that were competitive were far larger than the Croque Madame, and our crew was only five. Well, four and a sleeping drunk gaijin. The island was beautiful, even from far away.

As we docked the Croque Madame on Ie Island, the docks were eerily silent, save for a strange duo of young islander teens. Full Japanese mullets and neon clothing suggested they were rebels. The moped they were spraying gravel all over the place with was doing tight, concentric circles in the parking lot. I immediately imagined how bored life on this island must be, but kept my thoughts to myself. I was too happy to just kiss the ground.
We arrive and a man takes us straight to our michiku, which is like a bed & breakfast for Japanese people. Usually you sleep on tatami mats and eat modest food in the morning, but OUR michiku was AMAZING! The eccentric van driver that picked us up was known as the Gaudi of Okinawa. He messes with cement structuring and landscaping to give his little michiku a very unique vibe and look. Words could describe it, but here are pictures-


We set our stuff down in our rooms at Casa Viento, the unique sprawl next to Ie Island's extremely vertical mountain, and set off for dinner. After throwing up so much, I wasn't sure I was hungry. I was. Surprise! If you know me, you know my appetite is almost always ready to go demolish large animals. We get in, and it's buffet style food.

The big stir was that the Ie Island beef champloo... or Bifu Champru was the best. They weren't wrong. I had like three helpings. I also tried my first portion of tebichi for the first time... it's essentially very soft pig's ankles. And it was amazing.

The best was yet to come though... Somebody had caught a tuna on the way to Ie. It was massive.
Many people were taking pics with it, Shawn included...

They finally announced they were going to cut it apart (most Japanese have pro sushi chef level fish cutting skills) and boy did they! The sashimi that came out of that fish was the best fish I've ever had. Ever. I have eaten a lot of fish. Pics for proof.

Overall, best dinner I've had in a LONG time.

After the unlimited amount of Orion beer started to vanish, and the food got eaten up, a lot of the sailors began retiring to their michikus or sailboats or... I don't know they all disappeared. The people left were my boat, and the owner of the Ginowan Docks, Mr. Tabata. This guy is a cool motherf**ker. He kept his cool in every situation, and could charm the pants off a nun. Anyways, he invited us to karaoke. Now I'm used to Okinawan karaoke. What I mean is, I go to mainstream karaoke places (like the one that Andrew, Monkey, Chris and I went to) where you have your own room and have unlimited beer.
This happened to be like a hole in the wall place with women that serve you and sit next to you. Apparently it was known as a 'girl's bar'. Did not know this at the time. Continued to drink heavily, but switched to awamori sake or something close to it (I was the only one with fluent English at this point, no way of asking). We all began singing. There was one bro who could belt out cool Japanese songs, another that did anime beginnings, and Shimizu san and Mr. Tabata kept with the American classic rock. I had a great time. At some point I was asked to sing a couple of American songs at their choosing, and who am I to deny them that?! I sang "Rude" by Magic! at Mr. Shimizu's request... some sailing song I didn't know by Rod Stewart at Tabata's request... and several of my own choosing, thank goodness. I tried to keep with the sailing theme, but had my own ideas.
Songs I Sang...
Magic! -Rude
Rod Stewart -Sailing
Styx -Come Sail Away
Incubus -Wish You Were Here
Fastball -The Way
During my singing Sailing by Rod Stewart, the elderly owner of the place decided she wanted to dance with me. I had no idea what she meant at first, but was lopsided-drunk and would've gotten up and done the funky chicken had somebody told me to at that point. She repeatedly asked, "Chiiku-dance?" Which apparently means 'slow-dance' in old broken Engrish. She just kind of nuzzled my stomach and wobbled back and forth... It was strange. Nobody else was dancing and everyone was just kind of lounging.

The next day held a beautiful sunrise and my dad and his friend, Rance, taking the ferry to Ie Island to meet up with us and take my spot on the sailboat. This was the plan the whole time, but I was jealous due to the calm sea conditions and the beauty of the water.

However, I did get to drive my dad's jeep home, which is always cool. Me and Alex ended up smoking Cohibas with the top down and took the scenic route. Gotta love the islands.

A Birthday I Won't Forget...

Gomen! (Sorry!) All apologies for the briefness of the last blog, I huffed and puffed like I was going to sit down and write a novel, but I really just have been extremely busy. New Year's Eve was amazing, and the Japanese for it is Akemashite omedetou; however, the preferable thing to say is 'Nice to meet you in the new year'. (In Japanese this is "atarashii toshi ni o ai dekite ureshii") I'm not going to pretend I actually remember how to say that one everyday, but it's nice to understand how the Japanese view the new year. New Year...New Person. Seems more concrete than the resolutions of American hogwash and weight attainment. (or retainment, I suppose...) With that said, mine truly was a wonderful New Year. I met a gorgeous girl that has me awash with giddiness every day I wake up; although she lives in Colorado and is just visiting, it's a supreme feeling to be infatuated with a pretty girl. "Shinsui" is the Japanese for infatuation, and I'm not sure of the consequences of this word, due to the fact that I simply Googled 'infatuation', but I'm pretty sure you can't explain that feeling in any other sense than what it is.

My birthday (Otanjoubi omedetou to meee) falls on the second, apparently my heart does too. The same girl that I got but a glimpse of on the NYE celebrations let me take her to a pro basketball game as a pseudo-date for my birthday. Didn't know her, just knew her family, and by the end of the drive to Naha and back, I've felt like I knew the chick for years. Growing up in Okinawa as a kid (both of us, different times) definitely affects the way you treat people. Our parents are close friends, and she's the girl next door and I didn't even know it. For years... I guess that's what happens when we both travel internationally, regularly. I will do my best not to ooze gooey romantic bile from my rose-tinted eyes, but she's a spectacular gal. Stay on concept of Japanese-American logic differences. So yeah, Kancho.
After my coworkers knew it was my birthday, I was stricken with a game of Kancho that hurt me more than the spanking my Filipino sister-in-law insisted on. (Strange customs, that's why the blog's here.)

Kancho - a game Japanese schoolchildren play where they put their hands into what looks to me like a pistol... and stick it up each other's butts. Now, as an American (where homophobia runs rampant, and this would be looked down upon with utmost fervor) this is just wrong. As a Japanese, this is a funny game that tests the awareness of the dumb kids and really is a silly game that is played on playgrounds. This would be great if somebody told me in advance, but at work, I have my SOFA (Status of Forces Agreement) job at Pizza Hut. It's all-Japanese. There are very few people that speak English and learning Japanese is essential. Toma and Hei-san, (it's actually Heihachiro, but they shorten names like we do) thought it would be funny to start a crash course in Kancho on me, for a birthday present. At work. So all day, I had Japanese men creeping around me, hands in gun formation, waiting for me to ..do.. my ...job... and then they'd stick that gun up my bunghole. Not the greatest introduction, I actually almost freaked out on one of them the third time it happened. I'm very glad to have had a translator there named Josh that saved me from killing the two of them. (Jodannnn ((joking)) I'd never kill, only maim.) This is also a joke, I couldn't hurt a fly... but apparently the city I escaped would and will:
Pain, served with a Cajun crust. The people in Pensacola really do grow from the mud and simply aren't accepting of other cultures.
This is a pic of the main street of Palafox (in Pcola)from above... I don't miss Pensacola-isms. Maybe the people, but not the culture. The mindset's are as backwards as the inverted colors I was playing with.

I like to pretend I'm a gangsta, but in reality I'm about as soft as apple pie. Which by the way, is, in Japanese, Appuru Pai. There is no translation for apple pie. It's an American thing, just like our saying goes. There is a word for 'apple', just not 'apple pie'. This is the kind of thing that will throw off an English major for all I'm worth. Apple in Japanese is 'ringo', and apple pie is 'appuru pai'. C'est la vie.
On a personal note, I'm beginning to discontinue the mix of Spanish and Japanese that seems to happen every once in awhile for no reason at all. "Ippun mas, por favor" (One minute more, please...) Growing up hearing multiple languages is a spectacular thing, but when you leap from Romance languages to the Far East, it's simply 'wadgi wadgi'. (annoying)
Thank goodness I only sort of understand Spanish and the instances that my mind makes this confusing amalgam are few and far between. Finally, the last straw is having Hogan as an addition to my Japanese learning experience... It's like learning Cajun/Hick in English, and originates out of the Ryukyus... Okinawan-Speak.
So another one of my words I've picked up (I hope I pronounce it correctly, constantly doing this wrong) is "nifeedeebiru". (Thank You) Nee-fay-de-bee-doo for all you regular Americans that can't discern Romaji. (Romaji is what I'm saying everything in... It's Japanese spelled in English; I should've started the blog with that tidbit, but it's an erroneous term considering that I can't use a Kana keyboard yet.. yeah they have different symbols... remember?
English- Thank You
Romaji- Arigatou Gozaimasu
Hiragana- Romaji but in simple symbols.
Katakana- A more complex set of symbols (to an American) that make more sense to convert American words. Irony?
Kanji- The most complex set that people are terrified of from the West. It's like 16,000 symbols that can have multiple meanings and originates in China. This is what Japanese calligraphy typically takes from, and definitely Chinese calligraphy. The prettiest of all the symbols, and yet the most "muzukashii" (difficult) to learn.
To further confuse and proclaim the indecent amount of ambiguity in the Japanese language, you should read this link to translate the word, muzukashii.

Usually I pick a buncha jams, but I've been on an interview binge lately...
Here are some of my favorites:
I respect all these guys! A lot...
Chris Thile making great points on classical uppity-ness.
Brandon Boyd talking art, inspiration, etc...
Childish Gambino spitting venom.
Talking about racism, nerds, and some other things I ambiguously identify with...
And finally one of the biggest jerks of the industry actually trying to not be a shithead:
John Mayer talks on his influences.

Holidazed.

First off, sorry for the long post, it's been an insane December and I've had to piece this together since the last post due to the amount of learning/frustration/loving/life. It's been nuts.
"I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus that you are easily bored." - Bill Bryson
For me this is an easy one, I am accustomed to being easily bored.
My imagination is culled from a childhood that was spent traversing a dozen foreign countries with a mother that spoke three languages and a father that was into sci-fi. I imagine so many different dimensions and possibilities; sometimes people take my deep daydreams as a sign of incompetence. I've started writing again, and with a fury. It's one thing to be exasperated by the end of the day from learning new places and directions, how to drive off-base, all three Japanese alphabets and a new language; however, it can be the greatest time to channel deep inner emotions into prose. I love the island I live on and have new Japanese/Okinawan for the blog. There are way too many adjectives and verbs to cover in just three slots. I'm about to get educational on y'all's ass. I'm going to start covering concepts instead of words, because that's what, in the end... that's what words are. They explain things from different perspectives depending on where you're looking from.
Here's the first abstract idea:

They.
In English, it's 'they' went to a party.
In Japanese, it's "karera." So it's also "aitsura" which is dickish. That's like saying those jerks...went to a party.
Polite form is "anohitotachi" which is more like saying 'those people' went to a party, but that also means you don't know them very well. Here's where it gets fun. If it's a group of women, it's "kanojora". But there's not a word for just men.
Here's another one for ya:
Hikikomori - there is no translation in English, but it could mean 'recluse'. Many Japanese in their late twenties have started a trend where there is not social interaction, loneliness and pride take hold of their minds and they cease to exist outside of their apartment or residence. Relevant to my feelings of late?
Possibly, I blame isolation and seasonal depression. Regardless, I'm thankful for all the knowledge I'm attaining and opportunities I've received as of late. My family's the best, on both sides of the world.

Apart from these abstract ideas, I'm learning counting. In every form. If you're interested...
Here's a link for continuity-
Way Confusing, Learn at Your Own Discretion

I think that's enough for lessons today, but another version of counting I learned today is in cars. I just started driving, went out and bought my own Nissan Terrano. One thing you should learn to count if you're driving out here is how many autos pass after the light turns red. It's insane. Red lights are almost a discretion instead of a rule out here, and the American's ALWAYS at fault if something goes wrong.

And Finallllllyyyy my favorite part of my blog that means the least to most people probably... but the most to me:
Music Top Three...no Six... Picks for this Month:
Call Me The Breeze John Mayer's Cover rivals his Crossroads cover.
F For You British Electronica Duo called Disclosure
The Stone DMB... a personal fave stuck in my head lately.
Hellifornia Gesaffelstein. My new running music.
Last one... a freestyle by the newest freshest lyricist: (Explicit Cursing Warning)
King Los yo that's just some straight A's... listen...

Constant Change

Before, "Caught in the Riptide" was an outlet for creative writing and diary-keeping. I have new purpose and perhaps reason to continually apply myself to the maintenance of this word-behemoth. Such reasons include: remembering how to use my English to it's full extent, reviewing Japanese and Hogan (Okinawan) language lessons each day, and reflecting on my own changes as I strive to become one with my favorite island on this rotating blip we call Earth.
I'd love to get wordy and start doing Okinawan history, but I promised myself I would jump into the language aspect of the blog immediately. I live off-base in Okinawa now, and am completely surrounded by the Japanese language and the island lifestyle. It's everything I wanted and more, especially coming from the Redneck Riviera known as Pensacola. I practice with a Japanese soccer team, they kick my ass every Mokuyobi (Thursday). I am currently shopping for the Japanese equivalent of a 4runner, and it's called a Hilux Surf. Autos are cheap over here so I'm kinda hoping to find one for chump change. I wish I could say I've been diving every weekend, but the weather's been cold and my life's been busy. I did, however, find out about "night surfing" which is done when the water is high over the reef at night. The locals use spotlights, about 6 of them, and the brightness shows the waves and even the reef, a little bit. It's gorgeous and I hope I can attend a session one night.

Being here lets me hang out with my dad and stepfamily a lot, and I've really enjoyed the last couple of weeks. There are plans in place to help him brew a new batch of beer, and soon the peanut butter chocolate stout will be ready to drink. All in all, I'm stoked to be in Okinawa. I love this place dearly and I can't wait to report what hijinks and teachings I can.

I'm going to start off the language portion by repeating my favorite words I've learned over the last couple of months... My words for the day:
Wadgi Wadgi - annoying (Hogan) Best phrase ever.
Mooichi doitte kudasai - Please repeat that (Japanese) I say this a lot.
Zutsuu - Headache (Japanese) Sounds perfect, especially when your head hurts and you wanna stress the Oooh.
Tadaimaaaaa! - I'm home! My littlest sister repeats this literally every day.
So Ka - I see. Not 'I see' like I see something; but 'I see' like 'I understand'. I've noticed that almost all languages use this phrase instead of "I understand", and metaphors like 'seeing clearly' exist universally too. Pretty neat.

I'm always going to keep this one aspect of my old blog, too much passion for music. Maybe eventually I'll have some Japanese names on this list... My fave 3 jams of the moment...

Capital Cities - Origami

Incubus - Golden

Macklemore - Crew Cuts
(Seriously anything by this guy, but I love the Bravery guitar riff in this one...)

Life is Funny

I had never lost a family member (minus my first Labrador) until this summer, but now I've lost two. Both of my biological grandmothers died, and my papa, the first of my name (I've been watching a lot of Game of Thrones, and I'm the third) is now in a nursing home, unable to walk. Three weeks into getting my feet set in Japan, my grandmother, Olabelle Straw Gouldman, died. The matriarch of the family, my grandmother, my mentor, my brilliant, fearless, amazing grandma that scoffs at dismalness, shows light on dark times, and sees nothing but silver linings, died. My dad went to visit her and help take care of my Papa; he found her resting peacefully in her favorite chair. She was 87, and the definition of a leader. She played softball until she was about 84. She was a nurse, then a director of a geriatric unit when she was younger. She lived for a long time in the retirement community, The Villages, and instead of enjoying a peaceful life there, she owned the place. She knew everyone. There has been a steady flow of cards and food and visitors showing condolences, like a queen had passed. The neighbors came over. The neighbors' neighbors came over. The Golden Corral staff gave a card. Oh, wait, they gave us multiple cards, because it wasn't one of those 'we miss our customer' things; it was a 'we miss Olabelle' thing. There was one neighbor chipping golf balls into a bucket (or trying to anyway) because my grandmother was all about self-improvement over mourning. If she knew we were moping, or crying, or sad in any way, she might've gotten mad. She dealt with death in stride. She had plenty of friends pass, and kept on keeping on. She was one hell of a lady, and the likes of her red velvet cake will never be seen again. I keep hearing her voice, saying things like, "keep your chin up, young man" and "can't do anything about it now, go help JR." JR is my dad. He's the second John Robert Gouldman, and a retired Lieutenant Commander like his father before him. He's also an only child. To go home and be worried about your dad in a nursing home, but find your mom dead... I can't even imagine. I was crushed, and she's my GRANDmother, not my mother. I was crushed until my little sister provided some words when I couldn't come up with any. I relied on Ali, and don't know how I would've made the twenty-something hour flight back to Florida from Japan had I not. I cried like a bitch, threw some running shoes on and ran off like the child I still am. I ran, crying, from Sunabe to Ginowan, and would've continued until I couldn't, if I hadn't been worried about my stepmother being worried about me. (Scared the shit out of some locals in the process, it was dark and I'm about 6'2", heh) That's the first big lesson I learned in the last week. Everyone needs family, and I never realized how much we depend on each other until this happened. Be it a stepmother, or a sibling, or a step-sister-in-law, or your mommy, or a baby cousin that cheers you up with gurgles, you need family. Once again, my dad is an only child. I have no idea how he's coping like he is. I also learned a second lesson, though. This one was taught to me by my grandfather. I was having trouble with watching him in the nursing home. I had never been in a nursing home, until I had to help my Papa do things like take off his watch, and push his hair back, (we JRG's have great hair genes) and hold his head up to cautiously sip the last of the tea my Nana made before passing. It's so ultimately sad to me, that I don't believe in religion; I can't hold a light to the cockamamie bullshit that most people fervently attend every Sunday. BUT, there are other things than religion. For one, there's humor. The lesson my Papa taught me yesterday is that without a sense of humor, you are nothing. I could hear some lady across the hall yelping, "Help! Help meee!". It made me cry. I wanted so badly to stay there, and be the guy that helps. Of course, you can't even touch patients that aren't yours to help, there are a lot of codes and rules that keep guys like me from trying to reposition a granny and mistakenly snap her back or something ridiculous. Here's the golden wisdom he passed, though: we were listening to some estranged beep escaping the machine of his bedmate. It might've been an alert for blood-sugar levels, or a heart monitor for all I knew. It scared me. It was a disparate, monstrous noise to me, and I could escape it. That's what I was thinking, when my Papa asked, "Third quarter?" and smiled. We looked at each other and laughed heartily, and he continued on to say it, "without humor there's nothing." Memorial contributions may be made to either the Griffin Christian Church or the Griffin Alumni Associaton. Just a thought.

Under The Bridge

It's sure damn time I purged my thoughts via this magical connection to the online world again. I miss writing, and am beginning to wish that I had more of an outlet artistically than simply strumming a guitar every now and again. It's like working out, if one abstains from the grind of pushing words onto a medium for too long, you can't flex. In short- I'm beginning to appreciate the multi-faceted city I live in. In long... I've been feeling extremely connected to the city I'm bound to as of late. If I ever get the chance to move, I'm not sure how far I'd go. Pensacola has this magical binding that somewhat enchants me the more I learn about her. Out of the cities of the South, Pensacola boasts some strange amalgum of best beach town and dirtiest po' dunk. I live closer to the 'dunk. It hit home when monsoon season happened last week. Just like when Ivan tore this city apart and my family housed 2 others, the rain got bad this time. Many of my friends have water damage again, and my roof leaked (ironically) right where I was sitting. Good stuff. The smell that permeated the thick fog of swamp and oak could literally sting a Northern nose. It probably doesn't help that I'm about a mile from a huge water basin, but the humidity was like a bath, and I'm glad I enjoy it that way. Apart from rusting harmonicas and fence hinges, the stickiness of the air still feels like a warm embrace from the city I'm slowly growing to love. A lot of people would probably think me insane for enjoying something like humidity, but it's a sense of truth that I can't really find in many other places. Everything nowadays seems very fake or point-driven, and it's refreshing to have to deal with something so real and universally tying as bad weather. People in Indonesia know what I'm talking about. I don't care how much money you have, your morals, your friend count on Facebook or your level of education. If it's raining you're going to get wet, and I love that. There's no subtle advertisement in weather, and if you really hate the rain you could use some nature-bonding. Some of the greatest childhood memories I have are when the weather got bad and everyone had to huddle together, if brief, still tugs at soul strings. Pensacola gets plenty of those moments. I work downtown, so I get to see that side of Pensacola too. I have massive windows off Barrancas that permit some people-watching, if brief due to the advent of bicycles. It's nice to gawk at the residents of the east-industrial area. Sandwiched between 'beautiful downtown Pensacola' and the working man's ghetto, the people of the street are almost iconic. It's what I would imagine our neighbors in Alabama typically see on the daily. We have a massive black community, but it's mostly old guys downtown. As a rabid blues fan, I can almost always hear BB or Alby King somewhere in the background on my lunch breaks as I pedal around smellin' for something good to eat. (Then I end up at Patti's buying fish anyway, haha) The last part of this Franken-city that's somewhat stitched into the southern side along the Gulf Coast is Pensacola Beach. It's a completely different lifestyle out there, and I see why my mama wanted a piece of it. Laid back and breezy, Pensacola Beach always has something going on. Blues on the Beach, every other seafood festival, and the Blue Angels keep the beach perpetually happening. The taste of saltwater will loom somewhere in the back of my mind for a long time, and I'll be impressed as hell if I ever find softer sand somewhere else. I kinda... I think ...I love Pensacola... Oh god I'm one of 'those' now. I have GOT to start visiting other cities.

Post-Sesh Glow

There's an epic moment of satisfaction when you ride a wave. It's the delirious, gravity-defying moment that makes you feel invincible. That moment is great, but watching it happen can be just as awesome.

I was out at the beach the other day watching knee-highs roll in, nothing I'd want to catch with a 7'0" banzai. I was out there to meet my old friend Nick, an ex-lifeguard at the beach. We set up shop with towels and my dog and some chairs, and his girlfriend showed up. She has two kids, ages 2 and 4, and they were just bundles of joy. I can't say that I was stoked to have them around my 100lb lab who's never hung out with kids, but c'est la vie.

The kids were torturing my dog as I paddled out for a couple of waves... No luck, the chop was too fierce and the waves were all bite-size. As I get back in, the little boy, Nathan, has this look of bewilderment that screams, "Show me how to ride those waves now please." He repeats the word 'surfboard' until we agree to let him out in the water with us. Nick's patience and the mother's fun spirit allowed Nathan to get just past the sandbar, stand up on the board, and ride it in. These were the kind of waves that have already broken up and could just push a toddler on a board. But Nathan was STOKED. Little dude was a natural! By the end of the day, he was surfing. It was the greatest thing I'd watched in weeks, and I look at the picture anytime I'm feeling work-worn.

It works both ways, too. I learned to shoot a hand gun this weekend, and couldn't stop smiling for several hours. (that felt like several minutes)
I was pretty anti-gun before touching one, and had agreed to shoot mostly so I respected the guns more. By the end of it, I was thinking about how much it would cost for a P250 Sig Sauer... Larry, my gun mentor, basically just wanted to watch me shoot because I was having so much fun, and I ended up spending most of his ammunition. The lesson's in the smile. (well that, and guns aren't toys, kids.)
Sharing an experience like shooting or surfing can be just as gratifying as learning to surf, or catching a stellar ride. I'm pretty sure Nathan won't forget that first couple of moments on top of water, and I definitely won't forget my first shot with that .38 revolver. I just hope I remember to teach my kids the same things.

A smile triumphs where words fail, regardless of tooth count and age.
Teaching can be the most fulfilling experience, and sometimes the teacher comes away with more than the pupil.