We went up to my parent’s house in Orange County on Friday night. The house I grew up in. The house I lived in when I learned to surf. On Saturday morning, my dad, Scott and I woke up before the sun and began packing the car for surfing. The car I drove in college. The car my dad drove in college, too. We packed the towels in the truck bed, then the wetsuits, then the boards on top of it all.
My dad, Scott and I all sat in the three front seats with the heater blasting on our feet and the morning air blowing over the windshield and into our ears. It felt like fall, but more than that, it felt like the beginning of my surf life when my dad and I would ride to San Onofre State Beach to meet his best friend Kevin for “dawn patrol”. It’s been a while since either of us have been to our old stomping grounds. To the place where my dad taught me to surf. To the place where I used to practice each day, trying to improve, so that when we surfed together, he would be impressed.
There’s other significance to this area too. Scott and I got engaged at San Onofre a little over two years ago and my sisters and I had some of our earliest beach memories there.
We parked the car at trail one and met up with the rest of our surf crew, Kevin and Kelly. It smelled like sage brush as sea salt. We walked down the trail to surf together. Just like we used to. Just like I hope we always will.