Greg Seymour

I have this vivid image from my childhood that I think of often….

 

I’m standing at the water's edge in Shell Beach. It’s early morning and I can smell the misty salt air and feel the cool water as it runs between my toes and up the beach. The waves are crashing out in front of me and I’m anxious but not scared. It’s the type of nervous excitement that someone feels before they embark on a great journey. I’m five or six years old and you’re there with me.

 

I watch as you methodically rinse our masks. Slowly preparing each so as to avoid anything that would obscure the mysteries that await. We’ve done this before but each time feels like a new adventure. You walk back up the beach and place my mask on my face. As you take my hand and we walk into the water I feel surprisingly calm. We wade out until I can no longer touch the bottom. “Ready” you say. I nod with a giddy enthusiasm and like a spaceman stepping into another world we’re off. 

 

As the first wave slides over my head we enter this new realm. Still holding my hand, we glide over the bottom with its miniature mountains of sand and across the eel grass as it reaches up and brushes against my legs. Small Opal Eye dart in and out of the grass. A flash of orange catches my eye as a Garibaldi moves with ease along a rock substructure. My eyes are wide and my senses alive as we move out to deeper water. I move closer to my father, holding onto his back as the rays of light pierce through the surface and disappear into the abyss. I can remember feeling a very real sense of apprehension as the safety of the shoreline slips further from view. I  can make out only shadows now of what I assume are the reefs in the deep water in front of Whale Rock and my eyes begin to play tricks on me as I imagine those same shadows moving beneath me. I can hear my father breathing through his snorkel, the cadence of his breath is oddly reassuring as we move along the surface. He scouts, hunts and waits.

 

There’s a moment coming and I can’t escape it…

I hear the rate and volume of my father’s breath change, he pivots his torso towards the bottom, extends his fins towards the sky and disappears into the darkness. I’m alone.

 

Now, bobbing in solitude at the surface of the Pacific Ocean I scan for any sign of my father below me. There’s a very real sense of fear as I search for movement, bubbles, anything to provide reassurance that he’s returning in my direction. A minute passes, then a second…nothing. I tread water waiting and attempting to belay my fears. Then I see it, a silver torpedo rocketing from the abyss. My father breaks the surface, expels the water from his snorkel, dislodges the mouthpiece and smiles as we make eye contact. “Look Scott” he exclaims, lifting a spiny lobster into the air. I’m in disbelief as I try to process what I’ve witnessed. I feel absolutely alive, father and son, exploring, discovering and interacting in this new world and all of its wonders.

 

This process would repeat itself several times over the course of the next thirty minutes. My father disappearing into the depths, me waiting longingly and he returning with some exotic treasure, an urchin, octopus, abalone or perhaps a calorie shell. I never knew what he’d uncover and I loved it. I learned about the sea, its creatures, the tides, the weather and our place within it as its guests and stewards. But most importantly I learned about ME.

 

I wish I could say that I was aware at the time of the transformation taking place within me but to be honest, I was just simply loving the time spent with my dad. It would be many years later and after considerable adversity that I would fully understand the true purpose of these adventures. My father, by contrast, knew instinctively that our time together in the water was about so much more than just the ocean. Over the early years of my childhood I was subconsciously learning to be curious, calm, brave, adaptable and comfortable in often uncomfortable or intimidating situations. I learned about trust and to have faith both in myself and others. 

 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, these would ultimately become the very foundations by which I would try to live my life. As I grew older our experiences together changed but the underlying lessons remained the same. My father always tried to find a way to challenge my perceived limitations, to push beyond my own expectations and those of others. To ask questions, be open, listen more than I speak and take chances often without fear of failure or setback. And so in his honor I’ve tried my best as a father to do the same. To pass on the same sense of adventure, thirst for exploration and desire to always take the path less traveled to my boys. All the while encouraging them to be comfortable in an ever changing and unpredictable world. Has it worked? I suppose only time will tell but I’m proud of what I see. More importantly I think my father would be proud of the young men they’ve become, curious, caring, confident and immensely compassionate towards others and this planet. We are after all merely a reflection of those who leave an indelible imprint on our lives…. I love you dad.