Kid Quest Day with Ride-a-Wave
I met Nicole and Colleen when they were the teacher’s aide and occupational therapist for the Special Day class my son Eliot attended. A year later they started Kid Quest, which provides a variety of after-school and summer classes for children with special needs. Kid Quest is a dream come true for the parent of a child like Eliot. How many times has such a parent searched for a cooking class or a music class that would accommodate a quirky kid who showed a passion for cooking and music, hiking and rock climbing, or art and swimming? I was both ecstatic and relieved to enroll Eliot in Kid Quest.
Kid Quest falls under the umbrella of an equally heroic organization called Balance for Kids, which provides tuition for classes through the government-funded San Andreas Regional Center. In a slow economy and less-than-perfect public schools, it is comforting to know that youth of all abilities are still being served by our community. Our schools and community centers are full of people who --in what all too often is an uphill battle-- give their time and energy to serve our children. The volunteers for Santa Cruz’s Ride-a-Wave program are no exception.
Following on the heels of Foster Anderson’s Shared Adventures, a beach day for disabled people of all ages, Ride-a-Wave hosts smaller beach events for disabled youth. Sponsored by the Santa Clara City Fire Fighters, Ride-a-Wave is made up of fire fighters, paramedics, surfers, and many others dedicated to making this day at the beach a special event for youth with disabilities.
For many years I did not take advantage of the opportunity Eliot had to attend these beach days. He hated crowds and was afraid of the ocean, and contrary to my own nature, I didn’t push it. We were in San Diego on a church youth surf trip when I first witnessed such a beach day. Former champion longboard surfer Israel Paskowitz and his wife Danielle started Surfers Healing after Israel paddled out one day with his autistic son Isaiah. Being in the ocean, especially catching waves on a tandem board with his dad, did more to calm Isaiah’s sensory overload than anything else.
I had the good fortune to meet the Paskowitzes on the beach that day, and I talked with Israel.
“I’ve been waiting for Eliot to be ready,” I said. “He’s afraid.”
“We have kids who scream and cry all the way out there,” Israel said, ” but once they catch their first wave, they’re all smiles.”
I was in the water when the surfers paddled out with the kids. Each volunteer paddled a child on a twelve foot board, and when he caught a wave he pulled the child to his feet, holding the back of the kid’s life jacket. If a child couldn’t stand, there were all kinds of adjustments that could be made. I saw more kids smiling than crying.
The following Spring when the invitation came from Balance for Kids for a day with Ride-a-Wave, I signed up for Eliot. I did not think he would voluntarily surf. I imagined they would have to carry him out. But I knew once he caught a wave he would love it.
The morning of the event we were greeted at Cowell’s Beach by typical summer weather: fog in the morning followed by sunshine, and the additional bonus of a mild swell delivering two to three foot waves. Balance for Kids assigned two “beach buddies” to each child. Eliot’s beach buddies were Mary and Dylan.
Ride-a-Wave offered kayaking, boogy boarding, and surfing to all the children that day. I wanted Eliot to surf. When it was his turn, I carried him out to the surfers waiting for him just beyond the break, but he refused to get on the board. I had to carry him back in and put him at the bottom of the rotation. The second time he again refused to get on the board. I carried him back in with a mounting sense of disappointment. I felt the opportunity was before us and we needed to seize it. I was impatient. I was, as parents usually are in a high pressure situation with their offspring, too emotionally invested.
I left him with his buddies Mary and Dylan, and walked to the other end of the beach to collect myself. I was glad my sunglasses and hat hid the fact that I was crying on a perfectly lovely day. After a while I walked back down the beach to where Eliot was playing in the water. “I want to go on the surfboard with the chair,” he said.
The board with the chair was for kids whose physical disabilities made sitting easier than lying down. But Jonathon Steinberg, who was in charge of making sure every kid who wanted to surf had the chance, said, “He can go out on the board with the chair.”
So it was that ten minutes later my son walked down the beach holding volunteer Tim Loomis’s hand. No screaming or crying, no needing to be picked up and carried into the water as I had envisioned. When it was time for Tim, who was tall with an open, friendly face, to carry him into the water, Eliot let go of his hand and lay back in his arms, his legs relaxed and swinging against Tim’s side. No monkey legs wrapped around my waist and clinging for life.
Lesson number one hundred and one for Mom. Once again Eliot would do it his way. He would do it in his own time, and he would do it willingly before I expected. Next year, I told Mary and Dylan and Jonathon, I will leave Eliot with his beach buddies and paddle into the surf to help other kids catch their first wave. Or their second or third.
I had let myself forget how Eliot approached the ocean. When he was a baby he cried if we went anywhere near the beach. The sand hurt his feet, and from his perspective the waves were tsunamis. By the time he was three he played happily in the sand by the water, and when he was seven he played in the ocean up to his knees. I taught him to swim, but knowing his arms were not as strong as his legs, I did not push ocean swimming in the wild surf. I knew he had all his life to master ocean swimming. I had let myself forget he had all his life to fall in love with surfing too.
I walked down the beach to get closer to where Mike Gerhardt had paddled out with Eliot in the chair. I spotted the chair atop the board, bobbing on the waves. Then I saw Mike turn around and paddle into a wave that peeled toward the wharf. I started to cry, but this time out of happiness. There, enthroned like King Kaumuali’I, was my boy, sliding down the face of a glorious wave.
When the wave finally died, they bobbed for a moment in the surf. Then Mike turned the board around and paddled back out. I knew exactly what Eliot had said.
“Let’s do that again.”
Kid Quest falls under the umbrella of an equally heroic organization called Balance for Kids, which provides tuition for classes through the government-funded San Andreas Regional Center. In a slow economy and less-than-perfect public schools, it is comforting to know that youth of all abilities are still being served by our community. Our schools and community centers are full of people who --in what all too often is an uphill battle-- give their time and energy to serve our children. The volunteers for Santa Cruz’s Ride-a-Wave program are no exception.
Following on the heels of Foster Anderson’s Shared Adventures, a beach day for disabled people of all ages, Ride-a-Wave hosts smaller beach events for disabled youth. Sponsored by the Santa Clara City Fire Fighters, Ride-a-Wave is made up of fire fighters, paramedics, surfers, and many others dedicated to making this day at the beach a special event for youth with disabilities.
For many years I did not take advantage of the opportunity Eliot had to attend these beach days. He hated crowds and was afraid of the ocean, and contrary to my own nature, I didn’t push it. We were in San Diego on a church youth surf trip when I first witnessed such a beach day. Former champion longboard surfer Israel Paskowitz and his wife Danielle started Surfers Healing after Israel paddled out one day with his autistic son Isaiah. Being in the ocean, especially catching waves on a tandem board with his dad, did more to calm Isaiah’s sensory overload than anything else.
I had the good fortune to meet the Paskowitzes on the beach that day, and I talked with Israel.
“I’ve been waiting for Eliot to be ready,” I said. “He’s afraid.”
“We have kids who scream and cry all the way out there,” Israel said, ” but once they catch their first wave, they’re all smiles.”
I was in the water when the surfers paddled out with the kids. Each volunteer paddled a child on a twelve foot board, and when he caught a wave he pulled the child to his feet, holding the back of the kid’s life jacket. If a child couldn’t stand, there were all kinds of adjustments that could be made. I saw more kids smiling than crying.
The following Spring when the invitation came from Balance for Kids for a day with Ride-a-Wave, I signed up for Eliot. I did not think he would voluntarily surf. I imagined they would have to carry him out. But I knew once he caught a wave he would love it.
The morning of the event we were greeted at Cowell’s Beach by typical summer weather: fog in the morning followed by sunshine, and the additional bonus of a mild swell delivering two to three foot waves. Balance for Kids assigned two “beach buddies” to each child. Eliot’s beach buddies were Mary and Dylan.
Ride-a-Wave offered kayaking, boogy boarding, and surfing to all the children that day. I wanted Eliot to surf. When it was his turn, I carried him out to the surfers waiting for him just beyond the break, but he refused to get on the board. I had to carry him back in and put him at the bottom of the rotation. The second time he again refused to get on the board. I carried him back in with a mounting sense of disappointment. I felt the opportunity was before us and we needed to seize it. I was impatient. I was, as parents usually are in a high pressure situation with their offspring, too emotionally invested.
I left him with his buddies Mary and Dylan, and walked to the other end of the beach to collect myself. I was glad my sunglasses and hat hid the fact that I was crying on a perfectly lovely day. After a while I walked back down the beach to where Eliot was playing in the water. “I want to go on the surfboard with the chair,” he said.
The board with the chair was for kids whose physical disabilities made sitting easier than lying down. But Jonathon Steinberg, who was in charge of making sure every kid who wanted to surf had the chance, said, “He can go out on the board with the chair.”
So it was that ten minutes later my son walked down the beach holding volunteer Tim Loomis’s hand. No screaming or crying, no needing to be picked up and carried into the water as I had envisioned. When it was time for Tim, who was tall with an open, friendly face, to carry him into the water, Eliot let go of his hand and lay back in his arms, his legs relaxed and swinging against Tim’s side. No monkey legs wrapped around my waist and clinging for life.
Lesson number one hundred and one for Mom. Once again Eliot would do it his way. He would do it in his own time, and he would do it willingly before I expected. Next year, I told Mary and Dylan and Jonathon, I will leave Eliot with his beach buddies and paddle into the surf to help other kids catch their first wave. Or their second or third.
I had let myself forget how Eliot approached the ocean. When he was a baby he cried if we went anywhere near the beach. The sand hurt his feet, and from his perspective the waves were tsunamis. By the time he was three he played happily in the sand by the water, and when he was seven he played in the ocean up to his knees. I taught him to swim, but knowing his arms were not as strong as his legs, I did not push ocean swimming in the wild surf. I knew he had all his life to master ocean swimming. I had let myself forget he had all his life to fall in love with surfing too.
I walked down the beach to get closer to where Mike Gerhardt had paddled out with Eliot in the chair. I spotted the chair atop the board, bobbing on the waves. Then I saw Mike turn around and paddle into a wave that peeled toward the wharf. I started to cry, but this time out of happiness. There, enthroned like King Kaumuali’I, was my boy, sliding down the face of a glorious wave.
When the wave finally died, they bobbed for a moment in the surf. Then Mike turned the board around and paddled back out. I knew exactly what Eliot had said.
“Let’s do that again.”
posted by Victoria Tatum at 11:28 AM
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