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My Summer of 69
Reflections on the privilege of aging
This summer, I officially turned 69. If you have reached this number like me, there is a lot to take in and be grateful for. First, I’m still here and have been blessed to collect close to seven decades of memories.
In the ’50s, I crawled, tumbled, and fell to the tunes of Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” and Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire.” I didn’t have a “Father Knows Best” and learned early to fend for myself with little help from my parents, who were both working most of the time, leaving my brother and me alone in a tenement flat staring out the window in the South Bronx.
California dreamin’: The 1960s
In the ’60s, we moved from NY’s South Bronx melting pot to sunny white California, where I was swept away by fantasies of “Good Vibrations” and “Surfin’ Safaris” and ditched school with friends in search of that perfect wave up and down the Pacific Coast, “anglin’ in Laguna” and “kickin’ out in Doheny too.” Malibu, Topanga, San-O, Trestles.
Surfing was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. It was my speed. My escape. My freedom. The thrill of the ocean’s power beneath my board, the sun warming my skin, and the salt air filling my lungs was intoxicating.
The endless summer days spent chasing waves, and the camaraderie of fellow surfers formed the backdrop of my teenage years, shaping my identity and fueling my dreams.
Oh yes, and that thrill of walking on the train tracks past President Richard Nixon’s house and sneaking down to the perfect wave without getting caught. It was the all-time high—a blend of rebellion and pure stoke that defined an era and left a memorable spark in my life.
Being in the ocean helped me stay off-shore away from the troubles of a crappy-never-going-to-win-Vietnam War where there were so many questions about peace, life, and equality, but whose answers eluded us and went “Blowin’ in the Wind, just like Dylan said.
