New people in the line up meant The Douchebag had a new audience so he just kept spewing hatred. I started fuming in my wetsuit and paddled over to his general direction. I wanted to protect the kids, if necessary. As I approached, The Douchebag said, “Hey kids, stay away from these foreigners, ok? You don’t want to get AIDS and you’re going to catch AIDS if you talk with them or let them breathe on you. They’re illegal and don’t belong here.” Then, he turned his focus to the kid who was between us–a boy not older than ten. “Hey, you, kid in the Quiksilver wetsuit! Listen, don’t talk to that fucking Iranian asshole over there, you hear me?”
Inside my brain, I heard something snap. I decided to say something to The Douchebag and, if necessary, get physical if I needed to. It didn’t matter if I was sinking to his level and it didn’t matter if someone got hurt. What mattered was protecting those children. I suddenly felt responsible. Because none of us in the line up had confronted The Douchebag’s behavior head on, he’d continued acting inappropriately, even in front of children.
But before I could act, someone else finally said something to The Douchebag. Only it wasn’t any of the other adults in the line up, it was the ten-year-old boy next to me. He turned, looked at The Douchebag dead in the eyes and said:
“Don’t. Talk. To me.”
“Listen kid, I’m just letting you know that those people over there are—”
“Are you deaf?! I just said, ‘Don’t talk to me.’ So stop it right now!”
For the second time that morning, everyone in the line up stopped, turned, and watched. The kid turned back to looking ahead for waves. There was a pause. And then The Douchebag shut up and paddled off to the side. My anger evaporated. It had taken a ten-year-old boy to demonstrate how to deal with an aggressive individual quickly and efficiently. The Douchebag tried finding other targets, but, because of the child, everyone simply dealt with him the same way, rendering him useless.
I was left with one thought: were we wrong to ignore The Douchebag for so long or had we made the right decision in order to keep the peace? I quickly realized that the answer to the question lies at the heart of something I call “The Drip Theory.” The theory basically goes like this: if a pipe is leaking one drip per minute, the problem doesn’t seem so big. Left unattended, however, those drips accumulate and, over time, can fill a swimming pool. At some moment in time, the future risk must be established and the dripping addressed or the possibility for damage rises exponentially.
So it is with people.
The surfers in the line up that day weren’t wrong to ignore The Douchebag. Not at first, at least. The damage he was initially causing was minimal. But because his behavior continued, the possibility for damage rose and then peaked when children entered the water. The damage was only contained once someone – in this case a ten-year-old boy – had the gumption to address the problem directly. That boy helped stop the drip of vitriol, something the adults around him should have done first.
Surfers may have mastered the art of identifying and riding waves of water, but we would be wise to equally master waves of energy. When we see unfair or dangerous behavior in the water or on the land, we might ask ourselves: is it time to address the dripping and contain the damage? Doing so might save time, energy or even a life. I got out of the water shaking my head in awe and gave thanks, yet again, to one of the most powerful places I continue to surf.
