|Raf, Lola & Nina at Zuma|
|Raf & Lola check the waves|
Still, I'm sure he feels a pang to teach a son how to be a man. How to pee on the side of a road. How to kick ass in a worthy fight. How to play basketball. He's never said as much, but I see how he studies my relationship with the girls, the way we bond over clothes or make-up or teen heartthrobs. It's different. I'm sure he sometimes feels like a lone wolf in a sea of pink frippery.
But an interesting thing has happened. Our youngest daughter, now 6 and three-quarters, asked him to teach her how to surf. Over the past few months, he's taught her how to balance on a board in the swimming pool, bought her a wetsuit and a boogie board, hoping that she'll learn the basics before she's actually on a wave. Today, he took us all to the beach so that the girls could jump on their boogie boards. She took a few tumbles in the whitewash, coming up with sand in her hair and her nose, but she refused to get out. Instead, she went back out in the waves, again and again. She inspired her older sister, too, and we had a hard time getting them to leave the beach after a few hours.
"She's a natural," he told me, but his smile and the way he can't form the words to tell me how proud he is, is louder than words.