Nearly my height, they tumble and thundercrack. Crashing upon themselves, spraying sea foam wildly, racing up the shore. I velcro my grey boogie board to my wrist, nod to my parents, and enter the boundless blue

Even in late summer, the waters of Cape Cod are jarring. My breath draws in sharply as I wade further, then lie on my board and push off. Paddling out beyond the break, my legs start to turn numb while the sun warms my back, the contrast pleasing. Bobbing gently, I let dozens pass. Waves teach you patience.

Then I spot one, hulking in the distance. Muscle memory takes over as my arms cut furiously through water, pulling myself towards the mass and then spinning around to position myself at its base. Knuckles white, I grip the board firmly. My timing is good: I can feel it build behind me, all coiled force. As it crests I am lifted and launched. Harnessing the wave’s ancient might, gliding on the power of water and wind. Weightless, in this vast heaven

Something is wrong. The top edge of the board dips as the wall of water behind me grows, hungering for the shore. I am too front-heavy. I slide backwards to raise the board’s nose, fighting to regain control. It is no use; I am just nine and not strong enough. As I whip towards the shoreline, the board’s tip submerges and bites into the seafloor, catapulting my legs over my head. Falling-flipping-summersaulting-spinning. Weightless again, but of a different, violent sort. The deafening rush of water, salt in my nose and throat. I land roughly, cheek pressed into cold unforgiving sand. Still tethered to my wrist, my board flails in the water, the jerking tug of an angry leashed dog.

Then, two powerful arms. He draws me in tightly, his skin warm and dry, his chest hair a gentle prickle. I am sobbing now, salts of inner and outer worlds running together. Dad cradles me like a baby, the last time he would. I am nine, after all, and getting stronger.