The boys and I had a great time at the Presidio and Fort Point today. They were both enraptured by the surfers. One was surfing with a banged up helmet.
"Why aren't all the surfers wearing helmets?" George asked.
I wanted to say that I have never seen a surfer wearing a helmet. I was disturbed to see an orange neon tape X on the once white helmet. "I don't know."
"I know." George answered himself. "He must have ridden his bike here."
"Maybe." I mean... maybe he did. Who am I to say? He could have forgotten to take it off. He must be a bad bike rider... and has been in a lot of crashes... I thought about this for awhile. Apparently George was thinking about it too (Cole was one with the surfers, mesmerized by them, and not speaking). We all stood silently. "Actually," I said, having given it some more thought, "that helmet looks very different from a bike helmet."
"Yeah," said George.
Waves crash. A barefoot guy pumps a wave and then jumps in the air, turns and lands in the other direction. "These guys are good."
"Yeah. I need to learn a lot about surfing," says George
Cole is trying out the jump in the air.
"Oh yeah," I say. "Why?"
"I'm considering being a professional surfer when I'm a grown up. I think it will be my job."
"Great." Great. GREAT. It's probably statistically harder to be a professional surfer than it is to be an opera singer at the Met (my teenage dream) or be President (Tom's). Okay, President is probably harder, but they're all close.
EASTER BUNNIES:
Peace out
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