I Have A Cool Dad

A boat sliced through the remaining swells like it belonged to the sea. I squinted against the salt and wind, my soaked hair sticking to my face. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but then I saw the figure standing at the bow.

My dad.

He was alone—of course he was—and he didn't even look stressed. He guided the boat in with a calmness that was honestly unnerving after what we'd just been through. As soon as he got close, he tossed a line across and secured it like he'd done it a thousand times blindfolded.

Then, because clearly we hadn't reached the peak of absurdity. he pulled out a surfboard.

Sorry, surfboards.

"Alright, boys, time to ride the waves. The tide's pulling hard to shore and I've mapped the rhythm. The boats will drift with the fish. You just gotta steer a little. Let the sea carry it. Don't panic."

The others exchanged wide-eyed glances, but no one argued. Not with him. My dad had this way of speaking that just… made you listen. Like the ocean answered to him or something.

Then, without giving me a second to even process, he turned to me.

"Verdamona, let's surf."

I blinked. "Let's what?"

He jumped onto the board like he was born on it. His balance was effortless. Then he reached out, eyes alight with excitement.

"Come on. We're doing this together."

I hesitated for half a second. And that's when I really saw him.

Not just my father. Not the overprotective, irritating man who always had too many safety rules and constantly checked on me.

His windswept dark hair, the cut jawline, sun-bronzed skin, piercing green eyes full of thrill, salt, and sea. Strong arms that had clearly never stopped training, and a smile that could cause actual cardiac events.

Oh my gods...

"…Okay, I get it," I muttered to myself, my heart skipping for a completely different reason. "This is why Mom married you."

I grabbed his arm and he pulled me forward like it was the easiest thing in the world. The board tilted slightly under our combined weight, but he adjusted with barely a twitch. Behind us, the other men were passing around boards he brought and even the unconscious man was strapped carefully onto one of the sturdier shoulders, held tightly by one of the younger guys.

"You ready?" Dad asked, glancing over his shoulder.

I was not but I nodded anyway.

The ocean started to rise again, the surface swelling like it had unfinished business. A monstrous wave crested in the distance, larger than any that had hit us earlier.

This one wasn't just tall. It was impossibly tall. It was the kind of wave you read about in ancient disaster stories. It looked like a wall of water meant to swallow cities.

My blood went cold. My dad, on the other hand?

He was grinning.

"Alright, baby girl. Watch closely. This one's it. We ride this monster and we're home."

I screamed as we shot forward, the board gaining speed as the wave drew closer like it wanted to eat us. Saltwater sprayed in every direction, the wind screamed past my ears, and my legs were barely staying steady as I clung to my dad's leg for dear life.

"THIS IS NOT NORMAL!" I yelled into the wind.

"EXACTLY!" He shouted back, laughing. "NORMAL IS BORING!"

We hit the base of the wave. Time slowed. My heart stopped. And then we rose.

The board angled upward, climbing the face of the beast, and the world turned sideways. Water curved around us like a tunnel, and my scream turned into full-blown shrieking as we hit the apex.

For a second, we were weightless.

We dropped.

We fell down the wave's slope, slicing through water at impossible speed, riding the momentum of nature's fury. The others followed, some wobbling, some hollering in terrified joy. Even the guy carrying the unconscious man was smiling, like some part of him knew they were going to make it.

And in that madness, that chaos, I laughed. I was screaming and laughing like an idiot because this was insane. This was life. And my dad was the craziest man I'd ever met.

------

The rain hadn't let up but the fury of the ocean had softened. The monstrous waves had settled into rolling swells, and now we were drifting. The shores peeked through the mist, blurred but real, promising safety. I could already make out the outline of the docks, the flags, the lanterns flickering against the fog. We were close.

I sat on the surfboard next to my dad, soaked to the bone, hair clinging to my face, my arms aching from holding on for dear life. And yet, my whole chest buzzed.

"That… was actually so fun," I said, breathing hard, heart still thundering in my ribs.

He chuckled.

"Told you."

I glanced at him, still grinning, droplets running down his face, his hands resting casually on his knees like he didn't just surf through a tantrum.

"You're really cool. Where did you even learn to surf like that?"

"Me? I'm not a good surfer. Your mom is."

"Wait—what?"

"Your mother," he repeated, with a smile I hadn't seen in a long time. "She's the best surfer on the island. Maybe even all the islands. Every couple years, they hold a competition out by the east reef. She never misses it."

"Mom?" I repeated, still trying to match the image of her sewing at the table with wax pencils behind her ears… and now catching waves like a water goddess.

"I was just a regular fisherman when I met her. She was already known for her surfing. And the tailoring, of course. She made all the competition outfits herself. I was in love with her from the moment I saw her. Took me years to get her to give me the time of day."

I gave him a look. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. She liked me, but she was playing hard to get. The whole village knew it. She'd show up at the docks, pretend she was just 'passing by,' and then disappear before I could say anything more than hello."

I laughed, imagining my mom—cold, sharp-eyed, aloof—hiding giggles behind a fishing net.

"So when did she finally stop dodging you?"

His eyes dimmed a little. The sea had that effect, I think, made memories rise like tides.

"The storm. I was caught in one. Same kind we just rode through, only worse. My parents… they didn't make it. I was the only survivor."

I stilled. I had heard that story. I just didn't know the details about it. My dad's parents died in a fishing expedition and he was the only survivor. My mom's parents were alive though.

"When they found me washed up on shore," he continued, "I was barely breathing. Your mom took care of me. Wouldn't let anyone else touch me. She sat beside me every day until I woke up. And when I finally did, she was crying. That was the first time I saw her cry."

"And she confessed?"

He smiled again. "She said, 'I thought I lost you, you idiot.' That was her version of a confession."

"..."

"She's the one who taught me to surf," he added, glancing back at the sea. "Said it was the only way to dance with the ocean instead of fight it. That's what her parents taught her. Surfing wasn't just sport. It was survival. For fishermen, sometimes, it's the only way out of a bad storm."

I looked at him, stunned by the layers I'd never even considered in my parents' lives. My mom… the master tailor, the household anchor, the woman who measured fabric like it held secrets, had once ridden tsunami-level waves just because it was safer than staying on a boat.

"That's actually insane," I muttered. "She's so cool."

He looked toward the shore. "That's her."

Sure enough, through the fog and rain, I saw her—my mom—running down the docks barefoot, skirts hitched up in one hand, rain plastering her hair to her face.

The second we hit shallow water, she rushed into the surf. Dad lifted me off the board as I wobbled on numb legs, and then she pulled both of us into a hug that nearly crushed my ribs.

"You're both insane!" She yelled over the rain, but her voice cracked with relief. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"We're okay," I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder. "Dad's cool, Mom."

She leaned back just enough to look at me, then at him. Her smile broke wide and proud.

"Yeah. He is."