The parking lot at Point Panics was full, and my son, Rory Wallace, was scheduled to compete in a bodysurfing contest in 20 minutes. He left his fins with me and went to find parking.

It was a beautiful mid- September day but the swell at Panics was an inconsistent 2 to 4 feet. From the sea wall, I watched other contestants in their colored caps roll across the waves like Hawaiian monk seals.

I had entered us up because the meet guaranteed time at the bodysurfing spot that would be free of encroaching board surfers.

And Rory had been reading about a kaha nalu, bodysurfing, contest in “Hawaiian Surfing: Traditions from the Past” by John R. K. Clark.

“These two chiefs, Umi and Paiea, were competing, and Paiea forced Umi onto some rocks. Umi was injured, but he won, and later, when he became king, he had Paiea roasted in an imu!” Rory reported with a delighted grin.

I’d also signed us up because Rory, who’s lived 25 of his 30 years in New York City, happened to be in Honolulu.

He was thrilled to be here. I was a nervous wreck.

THE POSTER for the 2016 Point Panic Bodysurfing Experience included the phrase “90 feet and glassy” from Rap Reiplinger’s hit song “Fate Yanagi,” narrated by a surfer who took a fatal Panics wave.

The voice of announcer Mark Cunningham, a world bodysurfing champion who’d just scored medals in California and New York, boomed over the loudspeaker: “And in red, we have Kaeo Awana, ‘the human corkscrew,’ also known as ‘Belly Spin.’”

There were only three women among the 40 participants, even though Clark’s book recounts the legendary feats of female bodysurfers such as Hiiaka, whose “chest, her whole body, actually, became her board to ride the waves.”

Mark had advice for me: “Go left so the guys can’t vibe you out on the rights.”

In high school, I bodysurfed Panics in water that stank, afloat with fish guts, blood and oil from the nearby tuna cannery and garbage from the dump that lies under what is now Kakaako Waterfront Park.

Today the water was kingfisher blue, the waves’ smooth faces feathering in offshore winds. The perfect rights tapered into the Kewalo Basin channel alongside the green harbor buoy.

The heats at Panics were 25 minutes. The judges scored your two best waves. The esplanade was imu-hot as my husband Don and daughter-in-law Kaitlin arrived in time to see Rory ride four waves, the heat limit. Kaitlin cheered and said he was awesome. Then she and Don went back to work.

Now it was my turn to descend the slimy, slippery steps into the heaving boat channel and swim out to the break. “Kick okole, Mindy!” Mark cried. No pressures.

“Gotta go for it with both balls out!” said a brawny guy in my heat, and I felt slightly vibed and way out of my league. These were crafty, skilled Panics regulars, whereas Rory and I had surfed here only four times in 10 years.

I clawed myself onto two closeout lefts and a brief right. Startled by a skinny, mean-looking guy in black with the thrashy style of a B-52 flying insect, I missed the other waves I tried for.

Rory came down the steps to greet me. “Mom, you did great! You took off on lots of waves!”

I assured him he’d mistaken someone else for me. “No, Mom. ”

I was starting to feel almost hopeful until I saw the scoreboard: There was no number beside my name. Not even a zero.

“Mindy. The judges didn’t think you had a scorable wave,” said Kanekoa Crabbe, the meet organizer.

“I guess they have pretty strict standards regarding what constitutes a wave,” Rory said.

KANEKOA said he founded the contest eight years ago “because there was no bodysurfing event at Panics, only a handboard event. I always used a rubber slipper.”

Kai Santos said he had bodysurfed Waimea, Teahupoo and Jaws, the latter, he said, “like Panics but on steroids.”

Mark came over. “The judges want to see you commit,” he said. “Keep your head down and go for it.”

Rory and I were assigned the same heat in round two. He scored better than in his first heat. I did worse. The only wave I caught was after the heat ended.

“We have a lunch reservation at 53 by the Sea,” Rory said. “That’s where I parked.”

As we ate lobster rolls and opah at a window table overlooking Kewalo Basin and the waves dancing all the way down the shore to a still-green Diamond Head, Rory thanked me. He’d had a wonderful time: It didn’t matter how we’d scored, he said. The main thing was we were together and had fun. Plus his mom didn’t get roasted in an imu.

To top it off, he bought lunch. Gazing into his bright dark eyes, I felt as if I’d won.

“In the Lineup” features Hawaii’s oceangoers and their regular hangouts, from the beach to the deep blue sea. It appears every other Sunday. Reach Mindy Pennybacker at mpennybacker@staradvertiser.com or call 529-4772.