Professional Surfer.

World Champion.

Dear Friend.

Shaun Tomson.

Shaun and I share a very special time on the North Shore of Oʻahu.

I was learning how to surf Sunset when he showed up from South Africa and fit right in. He looked like a million bucks. His style was immaculate — frontside and backside, in all kinds of surf, with absolute style, class, and ease. Everybody liked him in and out of the lineup.

His Shaun Tomson model boards worked great. I rode two of them. An 8'0" and an 8'6". Lightning Bolts. Shaped by Tom Parrish. Glassed by Steve Cranston. Designed by Shaun.

That was the beginning of a friendship that has carried across the decades.

Then he wins a world title — and continues to shred on a daily basis.

Then word comes he is dealing with grief related to the loss of his son. And he goes public with how to deal effectively with tragedy, sharing his journey openly so other families don't have to walk that road alone.

Then he becomes a coach. A mentor, a guide, a teacher passing on what the ocean and life have taught him.

Three areas that require everything a person has: competing at the highest level, surviving the deepest loss, and showing up to lift others. He has done all three with the same style, class, and ease he brought to the lineup.

That's inspiration.

Responsible Parenting

An essay by Shaun Tomson, with a few words from Coach Brad Yates

Shaun is one of the great ones.

He won the world surfing title in 1977. He was part of the Free Ride generation that changed what was possible in big water. But the trophies aren't what make him who he is.

Shaun has lived his life with character. He has walked through joy and through the kind of grief that closes most people down. He didn't close down. He turned his pain outward and used it to help other people.

And here's the thing that tells you everything you need to know about Shaun: he still surfs. After all of it, he is still paddling out.

That is Accept Love. Awareness. Acceptance. Action. Shaun lives it.

I asked him if I could share his article on Responsible Parenting with the coaches, parents, and athletes I work with. Here it is.

Read it slow. Then read it again.

RESPONSIBLE PARENTING

by Shaun Tomson

My father spent thousands of hours watching me from the beach. Whether I was surfing a heat in my hometown of Durban, South Africa, or having a free-surf session in Hawaii, he was always there — a quiet, steady figure standing on the sand. But in all those years, he was never a director.

My father understood that you cannot control from the beach.

When you're in the lineup it is just you, your board, and the moving mountain of water in front of you. You are operating on instinct. You are making split-second decisions with no room for a second guess.

My dad didn't use flags or a whistle from the water's edge. He never tried to shout instructions over the roar of the breaking surf to tell me which wave to take or how to carve my line.

He just watched, with powerful and warm encouragement coming off him. If I lost, he never chastised or criticized me. He never told me what I should have done.

He knew that if he tried to control my performance from the shore, he would be subverting my independence and eroding my confidence. He would be preventing me from developing the very thing I needed most — not just to survive big surf, but to handle the pressure of competition that can break you as surely as a massive wave: my own judgment.

I see so many organizations today where control is mistaken for support. Leaders become directors, choreographing every movement of their team from a safe distance. They provide the script. They define the exact path. They wait on the shoreline with a metaphorical megaphone. But micromanaging people is a sign that you don't trust the foundations you have built.

My father didn't give me a map of the ocean. He gave me a map for my mind. He gave me the responsibility to win and to lose under my own terms. He gave me the internal anchors of integrity and responsibility. He made it clear that once I paddled out, the director was me. I was the one accountable for the ride. I was the one who had to choose which wave to take and how to ride it.

The greatest gift a leader or parent can give is the freedom to make your own decisions — and to own your own outcomes.

A WORD FOR PARENTS

Your child does not need another director. They have coaches. They have teachers. They have referees. What they need from you is the one thing only you can give. A steady, trusting presence that says: I see you, I believe in you, and the ride is yours.

1. Watch more. Talk less. Be the steady figure on the sand. Your presence is the gift, not your instruction. Trust what you have already built inside your child.

2. Skip the post-game breakdown. The car ride home is not your classroom. Let the silence do the teaching. Your kid is already replaying every play. They don't need your tape running alongside theirs.

3. Ask one question, not ten. “What did you love about today?” Then listen. All the way to the end. That one question, asked honestly, will tell you more than an hour of cross-examination ever will.

Watch. Trust. Love. Let them paddle out.

A WORD FOR COACHES

Shaun's father stood on the beach and watched. That is the model. But watching is not passive. It is the most active job you have.

A great coach protects three people at once. The athlete. The parent. The coach — including yourself.

1. Protect the athlete. Watch for the kid whose light is dimming. The one who used to laugh at practice and now flinches when their parent's car pulls up. The one who plays scared. The one who stops taking risks because the cost of failure has gotten too high at home. Your gym, your field, your court has to be a place where their judgment is allowed to grow back.

2. Protect the parent. Most parents who over-direct are not bad parents. They are scared parents. They love their child and don't know where to put the love. Your job is to give them somewhere to put it. Invite them in. Teach them what helps. Tell them, gently, when they are getting in the way. A parent who feels respected by the coach rarely needs to take over from the sideline.

3. Protect the coach — including yourself. Coaching is a calling, and callings get heavy. Watch your fellow coaches for burnout, for the slow drift into harshness, for the moment care turns into control. And watch yourself. Ask: am I still on the beach, or have I picked up the megaphone? The answer tells you everything.

The lineup is bigger than one wave. Protect the whole field.

Closing

Shaun's father gave him a map for his mind. That is what the great parents do. That is what the great coaches do. That is what the people we love most have done for us.

Stand on the beach. Watch with warmth. Trust what you have built. Let them paddle out.

Know yourself. Play your game. Accept Love.

— Brad Yates • HiLevel Coaching Service