What Sea Lice Taught Me About Life
My encounter with them was surprisingly meaningful. And itchy.
“Um, so, I’m really itchy?” I say, as my instructor, Randy, pushes me out to sea to catch another wave. I am 52-years-old, taking my first surfing lesson. We are in Ocean City, Maryland, where 36th Street meets the Atlantic. It’s early enough that the sun is still quite low on the horizon, silhouetting Randy who, at 21, is the same age as my middle child. I know I should keep this in mind and not stare, but art is art. Michelangelo couldn’t have chiseled him better. Plus who knows how many years or frankly seconds I have left to gawk? The foam today, or so I hear, is gnarly.
“It’s just sea lice,” says Randy, with a surfer’s insouciance. “They came
