The other day I watched my nephew introducing his son to bodysurfing.
The way the little fella was clinging to his dad's shoulders as they soared towards the shore whooping and laughing took me back to Kirra last century and my own dad teaching me about the ocean's pulses and rhythms and dangers - the same ocean where land and time and responsibility and mortgage payments and deadlines end, an an endless playground oblivious and disinterested in our macho machinations and digital dreamings.
Where analogue starts.
Where generations and memories blur.
Where the Stoke is maintained.
Later, while we all talked story, the little fella and his little brother exchanged surf clobber for Action Hero outfits, oblivious to time, the heat and the rest of us smiling on.
One day you're rocking the Batman mask and before you can say "Holy drop in, Batman" you're rocking the Gath helmet in full water person style and a couple of decades have evaporated.
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