By Mike Price
“Uncle Charlie, do you want to go boogie boarding?” asked Glenda, my twelve-year-old niece.
I had lived in Kansas all my life, but somehow married a California girl. This was my first trip to the coast to visit her family. Playing in the surf would be a new life experience. I glanced at my dear sweet wonderful wife and her sister Betty, sitting across from me at the breakfast table. Bill, my brother-in-law, was at the counter, making his lunch.
“Don’t look at me,” my wife said. “I’m not putting my body in that water.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Bill asked. “You can use my board.”
“You’ll be my favorite uncle,” Glenda said, with a puppy dog look.
I was her only uncle.
“Sure, why not?” I asked. Big mistake.
Two hours later, we were tromping across the warm sands of Huntington Beach. We brought all the beach time necessities— a cooler full of cold drinks, an umbrella, four folding chairs, blanket, towels for everyone, and SPF 2000 sun screen for me. Oh, yes, and the boogie boards. Bill’s board looked suspiciously new. We found the perfect spot and staked out our territory.
When I took off my shirt, the ladies shielded their eyes from the glare.
“Oh, come on now,” I protested, “I’m not that pale.”
“Yes you are,” my wife corrected. “Hold still while I spray on some sunscreen.”
I flinched as the frigid blast hit my back. When she gave me the go-ahead, I kicked off my sandals, grabbed the board, and stepped onto the sand. The burning sensation at the bottom of my feet conjured up visions of Polynesian Fire Walkers. “Ow, ow, ow,” I said, as I hobbled toward the inviting surf. But when my feet reached the cold water, I felt like a barefoot Eskimo. Surely, I thought, there be must a wayward iceberg offshore.
My niece ran by, kicking up sandy water. “You’ll get used to it,” she promised, “just dive in.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. I carefully waded in to my waist, trying to slowly acclimate to the temperature, until a friendly wave slapped me on the back with chilly water. Now I felt downright hypothermic.
“Wow,” Glenda shouted with her eyes wide open. “Hang on, Uncle Charlie!”
I turned around to see a towering wall of blue-green. I clung to the boogie board as the wave lifted me off my feet. Then it crashed over yours truly, tumbling me head over heels like a ragdoll in a washing machine, and finally dumping me on the sandy bottom. I stumbled out of the water, spit out a mouthful of salt, and rubbed my stinging eyes. I retreated to the beach blanket, followed by Glenda.
“Are you all right, dear?” my wife asked, in mock sympathy. She held her hand over her mouth, trying to hide a smirk.
“That was an awesome wipe-out,” Betty said with a laugh.
As I dabbed my eyes with a towel, the sun felt warm on my back. I observed the people in the surf. Lots of children were playing in the waves, but no crazy adults. I realized there were two things I must do. First of all, I gave my wife a big squeeze.
“Aaaahhh,” she screamed, “You’re getting me all wet.”
Satisfied with her reaction, I grabbed my boogie board, pointed to the mighty sea, and yelled to Glenda, “Cowabunga, dudette! Let’s boogie!”
Yes, I was her favorite uncle as we rushed back into the briny brink of insanity.
Mike Price is a retired nuclear power plant operator and current freelance writer. He spends his spare time volunteering with his church and community, traveling, and writing humorous stories. Mike is a member of SLO NightWriters, for writers at all levels in all genres. Find them online at slonightwriters.org.