I said I was going to “send it” when I went to San Josef Bay last Monday, and that’s exactly what I did.
What is “sending it” you ask?
Allow me to explain, faithful Gazette readers.
According to urban dictionary, “send it” is teenager slang for “to just do it, to say yes to something and don’t think about it, to have confidence and just Send It!”
It was cold and foggy at San Jo Bay that day, and as I looked out across the sprawling blue/green coloured ocean, I was debating in my head whether I was going to go swimming or not.
I knew life would be much easier if I didn’t go swimming, but the easy road is something I have rarely, if ever, chosen to travel.
I looked over at my best friend Brian, I looked over at Hanna (who’d tagged along to experience San Jo Bay for the first time in all its beautiful glory), and then I whipped off my Vancouver Grizzlies jersey and sprinted as fast as I could into the water.
I lost my balance around two feet deep and bellyflopped into the salty ocean water, submerging myself underneath the cool, crashing waves that never stop rolling in towards the surf.
I had officially “sent it”.
Other than being cold, it was a pretty fun day at the beach. I did some skimboarding, possibly broke my toe, saw a Killer Whale that actually turned out to be a human paddling around the bay, checked out some cool rock formations, splashed Hanna until she complained about hypothermia, and then got into an argument with Brian about donuts.
Yes, you read that right.
Whenever my best friend and I hang out, the conversation inevitably turns to the subject of donuts; or more specifically, something I like to call “the great donut caper”.
What is the “great donut caper” you ask?
Way back when I was in grade eight at Port Hardy Secondary School (1998-1999), Brian would come over to my house to hangout at lunchtime, eat pizza pops, and watch Spiderman cartoons.
This is where the story gets interesting.
My dad had a big box of Tim Horton’s donuts he had brought back from down island, and they were just sitting there in the kitchen, ready to be devoured by my family as an after dinner snack later that night.
Needless to say, the donuts didn’t make it to dinnertime.
My dad, for whatever reason, decided to come home on his lunch break instead of staying at work, and he immediately noticed the donuts were missing.
He let out a thunderous bellow that echoed throughout the house.
“TYSON! WHERE ARE MY DONUTS!”
We told him we didn’t know where the donuts had gone, and said that we hadn’t seen them.
He wasn’t happy, to say the least.
Ever since that day, Brian and I have steadfastly denied to my dad that we took the donuts and blamed each other for their disappearance, but while walking back from the beach, Hanna said it sounded like it was both of our faults.
So after 19 years of denial, Brian and I have agreed to officially bury the hatchet and release an agreed upon statement of the facts.
Dad, I know you’re going to read this on Wednesday when you get your paper delivered, so here’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Brian and I have agreed to split the blame 50/50 for the disappearence of your donuts. While neither of us admit to actually taking them from the kitchen, we both admit our guilt in eating them downstairs while watching Spiderman cartoons and then hiding the evidence.
However, I still contend it was Brian’s idea to fill your bottle of crown royal with water after drinking half of it.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Hope you enjoyed this lighthearted editorial, it was pretty fun to write.
Check out www.northislandgazette.com every Thursday for more of Tyson’s Thoughts.