From John Shawbell:

The emails were going back and forth between me and my dad in planning for his flight to Oahu. Prices were soaring and the ship’s schedule wasn’t concrete as to when we would be pulling into to Hawaii. “I don’t know Johnny if I am going to make, it’s just too much to get out there”, Claude wrote.  As I had done many times in the past I calmed his nerves in my reply, “Pops don’t worry about it we will make it work we always do”. He agreed and we came together and pulled the trigger on a the cheapest flight we could get to get him out to Oahu to meet my ship the only issue was we still weren’t completely sure when the ship would arrive so it was a one way ticket from PHX to HNL as a gamble.

 

 It was the late winter of 2006 and the amphibious assault ship USS Tarawa was wrapping up it’s Western Pacific deployment that saw considerable time operating in the North Arabian Gulf, a Suez Canal transit, and show of force in the Asian Pacific area to demonstrate how much the crew could drink (and a Kenny G encounter).  The last stretch of deployment from Hawaii to San Diego is when the crews’ family members would embark onboard the ship for a Tiger Cruise, the awesome opportunity for parents and siblings to be intertwined with their loved ones while out to sea and witness all the work the sailors and marines did first hand.  So the ship’s schedule solidified the gamble paid off however it turned out Claude would be on Oahu unsupervised for at least two to three days before I arrived.  I wasn’t sure how this would work out my Dad didn’t have a lot of money to spend on hotels or to eat out and he is too proud and uncomfortable with me paying for a high priced Waikiki Hotel and his food costs. Even if I were to talk him into paying for that plan I knew he would be burnt out from the Waikiki life suck prior to even seeing me and he would most likely in negative and brooding mood that I would have to deal with in the middle of the ocean on ship. I had a risky idea, a couple of my previous trips to Oahu I had stayed at a hostel on the North Shore. For only twenty bucks a night you could get the bare minimum bunk bed lodging at a place appropriately named Backpackers.  I proposed this plan to Claude, he could tell the hesitancy in my voice as I sold it to him, “Yeah pops it’s great you’ll be there in the middle of North Shore big surf season, the Pipe Masters will be going on.  Also it’s across the street from Shark’s cove and a Foodland grocery store is in walking distance”, I wasn’t sure he would be up for it.  In typical Claude fashion he was excited and bounding at the chance “Yeah that sounds cool, great Johnny I’ll get a rental and just pal around up there for a few days. Don’t worry about your old pop”. That was it my 63 year old father would be staying in a hostel surrounded by the world’s best upcoming surfers, photographers, surf groupies, and all that is circus of the World Championship Tour of surfing on the North Shore and after noticing that excitement in his reply it wasn’t him I was worried about it was them.  

My friends on the shipped asked “Did you figure out where you Dad is going to stay?” I hesitantly replied “Yeah, up at that hostel we stayed at last time we were here, up on the North Shore”.  They looked confused as it was in typical Claude fashion he would be the only parent who would be shacking up in a hostel waiting for his hosting sailor.

 

As the ship moored in Pearl Harbor I threw on my boardshorts, packed up my surf boards, and grabbed my charged cell phone.  I immediately called my Dad as I strode off the pier, I hadn’t heard from him since his supposed arrival on the island two days prior. I asked my friend Nick for a ride up to the North Shore as I was starting to worry that the old man might be in trouble, didn’t make the flight, or was lying in ditch somewhere off of H1. We arrived at Backpacker’s to see him standing there talking to a few other guests and he pulled away almost reluctantly as it appeared I was interrupting a Claude story or deep conversation. “Johnny-O, you made it my man”, he joyously yelled.  I gave him a hug, “What have you been up to pop?” I asked.  He then jumped into a non-stop detailed itinerary starting with his flight then into his drive from the airport and his check in at the hostel. How he then gave a ride to a young surfer to buy a new surf board and then watched on as the guy snapped it in half while surfing 15 foot Waimea Bay only 30 minutes later. That night this same kid took a bunch of mushrooms and had a bad trip that concluded with him drawing all over his naked body before finally passing out in the hostel common area. I laughed and shook my head as I saw how much fun my dad was having in this arena and the life in his spirit. 

 

We walked to our room and I was greeted by everyone in passing, “This must be your son” they remarked warmly as they extended their hands for introduction. As he always did Claude had told them all proudly of my Naval Service, my achievements, and the upcoming ride onboard the ship. I entered the room as Claude introduced me to our roommates in our bunk house. One a 45 year old truck driver from New Jersey who makes a yearly pilgrimage to either the North Shore or Puerto Rico to surf in warm water waves before returning to the turnpike to pound out long hours on long hauls for the other 11 months of the year and a 20 something slender brunette who was quiet and rarely seen in the room or around the hostel as she was already entrenched in the North Shore surf party scene of hanging out and hooking up with pro surfers.  I dropped my bags in the room introduced myself and we took off for a walk along Kam Highway towards Foodland as I was craving poke (raw tuna) and a beer.  As we trotted up the street under the shade of the huge monkey pod trees everyone we encountered or crossed paths with said something to by dad in passing.  Surfers giving us updates on the surf conditions, an old Rasta dude thanking him for the rolled cigarette the day before, and other tourists thanking for directions or snorkeling tips, I was confused and amazed.  Claude saw the amazement on my face and the little smirk I was giving him as he dapped up, shook hands, and fist bumped his new community, “I’m local now dude”, he said laughingly as he grabbed my arm and lightly punched me on the back, we both laughed. 

 

We had three days together at the hostel before the ship departed for San Diego, during that time we hung out with the other guests.  The 40 year old truck driver, some friends from the ship, and I surfed Velzyland while Claude looked on.  He integrated himself in the editing process of surf action shots as a pack of photographers sat in the common area at night going through the daily footage.  He told his tall tales of the Colorado River trips to the young thrill seeking surfers who were eager to hear of other natural feats of water they could tackle during the surf tours off season.  I looked on as they were glued to his every word (ones I had already heard many times before) and just smiled as his stories were in full swing.  I witnessing a life in my dad I hadn’t seen for some time as he was in this unfamiliar place but completely in his element, he keep remarking “This just like my old river running hippie days”. 

 

That last night at Backpackers we drank way too much at the hostel, hosted BBQ and returned giggling and stumbling into our bunk room. We were trying to keep quiet as the trucker and the surf groupie were already inside preparing for bed and only moments away from turning the overhead lights out.  I quickly changed and climbed in the top bunk above my dad’s.  He was slower to get into the bed as I could tell he wanted to keep things going and my Claude uncomfortable comment radar was pinging (built in to all of Claude’s children). He was finally in bed and the lights went out.  I felt that summer camp moment was upon us when everyone is in their bunks awake and still working to go to sleep.  Claude couldn’t help himself with the opportunity, “the old Sheppard the young” he deeply bellowed out as some wise drunken bed time proclamation. I just shook my head against my pillow and loudly replied, “Dad, go to bed”. I then laid there for a moment laughing inside about the entire ridiculousness of the past 72 hours. I then closed my eyes with having a new appreciation and some understanding of who my father was during those “river running hippy days”.  It was also a moment that felt like a tipping point or crossing over in our relationship, one from superior to subordinate but to as friends and confidants. An adolescent bridge had been crossed and I terms of my father’s actions I no longer felt embarrassed the need to offer an apology for my father’s actions.

 

We woke up the next morning, packed up our bags, loaded up the rental car, and checked out of the hostel somewhat silently. As I sat in the driver’s seat waiting for him to finish his cigarette then he hopped in the passenger seat and closed the door.  We sat there in silence for roughly thirty seconds before I looked over at him and said inquiringly “Really, the old Sheppard the young?” we let out loud laughs and I started the car.