Parental Chopping Block Work

Some vital lessons make chalk powder of your self esteem. For example, returning a stolen chocolate is a mortifying experience. I saw it happen to a friend of mine when we were in junior school. He stood at the counter with fountains in his eyes, while his father and the store owner threatened a myriad of horrible forfeits. Passerby’s shook their heads and whispered. Other kids sniggered. No one was going to send an eight year old to jail for hustling a Chomp, but the little moegoe needed to be taught something important. He was finally dragged to the car by his wrists, still begging for mercy.

I escaped that day with a Sweety Pie in my pocket, believing I’d dodged a bullet. But life had a strange way of bringing me to justice…

***

During the mid nineties Groundswell Surf Club took flight in Port Elizabeth. It had all the makings of a proper organization: corporate sponsorship from Oceans Surf Shop, bimonthly contests (with results printed in the Zigzag) and weekend trips to Seal Point. There was an AGM at the end of each year, with trophies given to the winners of each division and a special prize for the most improved surfer. Even though the club T-shirt fit me like a wedding dress, wearing it made me feel invincible.

I surfed in my first Groundswell Club contest during the season of ’95. Dylan Stone and myself were the youngest kids there; in standard 4 at the time. My parents dropped me off at The Fence early that Saturday morning, smothering me with kisses and good luck wishes. I thought I was going to evaporate when my father came back to check with contest head judge, Graham Finnemore, that I would be looked after properly.

Lucky for me Graham understood the sort of near-death embarrassment a 12 year old’s parent can cause him/her; I was looked after well at the contest and not judged for being a noonie boy. In fact, it was one of the best days of my life. I spoke shop with people who understood me— everyone compared Rip Curl’s surf movies to Billabong’s, Curren vs. Occy, Pear Jam vs. Nirvana. I’d found my herd. Members included some of PE’s biggest names in surfing: Arno Lane, Joey Calhou, Frikkie Kritzinger, Brad Sorour and Jaco Kapp. All of them surfed for Province. Watching them was like a fireworks display on water. Those guys could do aerials and 360’s and sick layback tail slides like Frankie Olberholzer.

Around the supper table that night I yammered on about the contest without taking a breath. I was so busy talking I didn’t have time to think up a decent excuse when my mom interjected, asking me where my new beach towel was. It was a Christmas present from her; a very practical and expensive one. She’d written my name on it in thick black koki pen and warned me about losing it several times. And when it wasn’t in my bag that night she wanted answers. All I came up with on the spot was that someone had taken it home by accident.

I still have no idea what happened to that bloody towel. My mom started digging straight away: Who used your towel? When did they use it? Are you sure they still have it? Etc. And for all the embarrassment lying about it caused me, I wished I’d just owned up and said I lost it. I could have said I gave it away and gotten off easier.

But I wanted freedom at any cost.
I told my mom that Joey Calhou used it last—he was one of the founding members of Groundswell Surf Club and an employee of Oceans Surf Shop at the time. I wish I’d balmed it on Dylan. I thought throwing her off the trail with a name she didn’t recognize would buy me some time to make up a better story. But my mom is a blood hound when it comes to sniffing out lies.

“Call him and ask for your towel,” she demanded at 9 o clock that night.
I begged her no. Not that. Calling one of the club’s head honchos to ask for my missing towel world make the world explode.
“No mom, please! I’ll get booted out the club… mom, please, I’ll be expelled!” I sobbed.
But she was relentless. By then I was in a corner; I’d twisted my words so much and retold too many versions of the story. I felt like Macbeth, far too steeped in lies to turn back.

In the end I didn’t get booted out of Groundswell Surf Club. I called Joey Calhou and said he owed me a towel. “I’m lank sorry to ask you, bru, but my mom’s going to send me to boarding school in Hankey if I don’t come up with a towel,” I said during the phone-call. To my absolute amazement and relief, he was cool about it. A little confused as to why he was taking the fall for the disappearance of some lightie’s Colibri beach towel, but graceful. I’m sure my weepy tone helped. My mom took me round to Oceans the next day to claim one of Joey’s towels (a bright red one), which became the scarlet letter of my youth. Every time I used that replacement towel, I felt like surfing’s Hester Prynne, wearing the mark of sin.

The guilt ate me alive.
When I eventually owned up to everything about 6 months later, my mom made me return the towel. If the first phone-call was embarrassing, I can not begin to describe how bad the second one was. Joey Calhou must have thought me a complete nut. “Ah, bru, I’m lank sorry I blamed you for my missing towel. It was a kak thing to do, but I was scared. My mom says I have to give yours back now…” They were some of the most cutting words I’ve had to say, but I’m glad it happened. In the end, it was a lesson I should have learned on the day I escaped with a Sweety Pie in my pocket.

***

My friend, Rennie Pringle, picked up his new summer board last Friday. It’s the most outrageous fish— designed like a board from the 70’s. It’s a work of art, complete with handcrafted balsa wood fins. Looking at the conditions today (it’s hot, windless and flat as a pancake), his board will the ideal toy for enjoying summer.

The Reef Pro was finished this weekend. Greg Emslie was the highest placed South African in the event, making it to the Quarter Finals— a very respectable result in Hawaii.
The second event of the Triple Crown, the O’Neil World Cup of Surfing, starts its waiting period later today at Sunset Beach. www.aspworldtour.com will take you to the event site.