surfer girl

delta old and delta new

Ever since I was a little girl, I've always been around the ocean. East coast, born and raised baby. My dad was a world- renowned surfer, and that's where it all started, specifically with my name. Delta. 

I know, it may sound like I'm just destined to be part of a sorority, but ya know a delta is a major part of how water flows. And my dad just loved that, the flow, the sound, the easy breezy casual lifestyle. 

So naturally, at the age of 2 and a half, my dad threw me onto a surf board. Of course, I had a life jacket because of my mom's natural worried state, but there was no stopping my dad from getting me out there. So every morning as the sun came up on the horizon from age 5 to age 10, my dad slathered me in spf 100 (again, thanks mom), and set me up with my board, and I learned to surf. He taught me like his dad taught him, and his dad's dad before that. I was the first girl, so obviously some things changed along the line. 

Like how I was babied the first time I got sandburn, and the first time I was pulled under for more than a minute I got dragged straight back to the house and set down in the bath tub, sputtering water. There was never a "toughen up," only "you're doing great sweetie."

My mom was always my biggest fan. At my surf competitions from the ages 7-16, she brought her camera and recorded the whole thing so we could watch it back on tape later. All you could ever hear was my mom yelling "go Delta go!," even over the noise of the massive waves hitting the shore.

That was the one thing I loved about my parents so much, everything was so old school with them. Dancing around the kitchen to the beach boys and the beatles on our old record player, driving our bright yellow 1970 ford bronco everywhere. That was the car I learned how to drive on, and here 2 years later, I can still only drive stick shift. 

In Florida it was summer 365 days a year, so it was only fitting that when I moved, I found a place exactly like it. I couldn't stay on the east coast, I needed a new beginning. And that's how I ended up in Southern California, on the Santa Monica Pier. Staring down the waves, ignoring the people that passed me knowing who I was, and what had happened. All they could say was that they were sorry, and sorry can't fix anything. I only know one way to fix myself- and that was to get back out in the ocean and face my fears head on.