Playing Hooky

They came looking very guilty. It was midday, and they should have been home, helping with the housework.
I could see fishermen waiting out in the sea. Some of them were heading back, hauling in the day’s catch, preparing to bring the fish to the local market, and their kids were waiting there to help.
But apparently, the call of the sea was too much to resist for this group. Armed with their makeshift boards, they congregated at the bright aqua fishing boat with the two yellow stripes and its paint chipping off at the bottom part where it kissed the salt water every day.
Their youngest member was a mischievous looking boy of about five, who had the beaming look of excitement that only a five year old could muster after escaping from his chores. His eyes were shining with a giddy enthusiasm so palpable that I was getting worked up already.
My attention was broken when my cousin brought out a skim board. It looked professional in my inexperienced eye. It was all new and shiny with bright red flame designs and we all looked cool riding it. We saw the kids as we lay there in varying states of injured pride and body parts. They rode past us in their "boards", doing tricks, looking like the professionals they could be if only they were discovered. With ease and precision, they rode with fluid grace and agility that left us with mouths agape at the sheer talent we were witnessing. With their unevenly cut pieces of plywood that served as their boards, the local kids of Iba, Zambales skimmed the shores with skill and talent that could rival even the best professionals.
And as I lay there rubbing my sore wrist, I wondered how on earth my country was not doing better in the water sports area. Just right there in front me was raw talent waiting to be harnessed. And then I realized, with a sudden jolt, that it did not really matter to them.
Just like that, I wished I was a kid again, skimming the shores and escaping from my chores.