Skating-Induced Sneezes

Can't get enough skateboarding to fill in the gaps. I spent a good chunk of my Wednesday afternoon of freedom tucked away in a computer lab, checking out scholarly databases and accruing scholarly sources for scholarly research like a diligent, school-abiding twat. I got done around 5:45, and opportunity struck the combo in a game of Bop-It. I took one step outside and the tendons in my feet were reverberating with the shock of a tribal drum beat all to hell for the calling of slabbed wood. I had to go to the skate park on this wondrous fall day. I like skateboarding a bit much. I love skateboarding.

So much that I can also accept the existence of kids half my age that are nearly equivalent, if not "better" than I am as far as trick performance goes. Not like I'm advertising myself as anything close to "good," a quality that I believe only the truly interested can sense, but after pouring myself into skating for a good five years or so, it's pretty interesting to see kids who are twice the age as the amount of time I've spent skating, who can take a board nearly three-fourths their size, and bust phat ass crooks and plop down fakie heels like it's worth half their time. Seriously, I'm not complaining one bit about them because the more power little kids have, the funnier things get anyways.

But to reflect on a logical aspect of it, I was at work several weeks ago during the first week of classes, and was sent to fix a media cart in a classroom. I had about ten minutes to spare before the next class started in the room, and I happened to slowly discern with the steady seepage of students through the "point of no return"-they-taught-you-about-in-driver's-training worth of a door to education, that I was in the delicate embrace of a German class. No problems here then. I tested out of all of my language classes. Thus, no hauntingly monotonous flashbacks/wickedly drug-induced aftertrip brain-distillation (it's all the same, I can only presume) to make me stab myself in the face while on the clock. Nevertheless, my task continued well after the class started, and while I waited around for a simple phone call, I let opportunity pull the Bop-It combo once more, and turned work into the only free class I will probably ever get at Aquinas.

And you know what? I probably learned more in that class during those five minutes than I learned that entire week. I learned how to say all of the months in German, and also learned that little kids are more apt to become fluent in several languages because the muscles in the human mouth grow in age to accommodate the language they speak. Thus, adults have a harder time learning different languages, whilst children can become masterful powerhouses of language fluency. That is precisely why these little kids are so good at skateboarding.

Little kids have power. I have power too, but not as much as they do. I started skateboarding when I was in high school. They started skating while in elementary school. Soon, I will break down, and breaking down I will do well before them. The physical energy in me to continue skating will most likely escape me at some point, despite my far fetched statements of aspiring to be a 90 year-old skateboarder. I will inevitably break down to half of my stature, half of my fortitude. I will feel the grenades of age ease into my spinal sockets and casually explode, shredding and fragmenting the discs in my back. And unfortunately, the skateboard company Almost didn't construct me with their specialized pressure discs, meant to divert pressure and prevent snapping of the wooden spine. I will fall apart, but at least I'll have a stone heart. My body may break, but the power in me will never fade. The discs in my back will disappear in clouds of dust, but in those parched fumes of dried marrow lingers the cocaine fog that, when mixed with liquid faith, glues the passion to the core of my heart.

And those kids? The same will happen to them. But the part that matters is that at one point, we all felt the power. We weren't constructed by Almost, but we were all made by BlackLabel, Habitat, Chocolate, Almost, Supra, Rodney Mullen, Krux, Reds, Chris Haslam...by those names, we were given a home, and in that home, we've all found solitude, a final construct that we can all be comfortable in, to worship in. They made us who we are, and they fostered the love that empowers us all to be equal with each other.

Because you see, despite the differences and the playful grudge I hold against longboarders (if you're going to do it, do it right!), whatever you do, whether it's on a six-foot or three-foot board, goofy or regular, good or not, when you've stepped on, you've accepted it in your heart, just as "we" all have. We all love each other, and the love is present whether we are alone or in a pack. That's the grandeur of it all: it lets you worship in whatever manner you desire. If you wish to do it alone, you may do so. If you wish to find the power in numbers, you may also do so. Personally, I like the alone part. I love the alone part. Being alone puts me at rest, at ease, where I have nothing to prove, I have no debt to anybody except myself that I'll not be at fault for the cracks in my "skate-home." My home will stand beyond my body, and the only person who can hold those rigormortified pieces of wood in place after I am dust is my own will. Nobody else.

And that's precisely why I chose to go to the skate park alone today. But even though I went alone and spoke to nobody, that one kid who I KNOW was younger than me, who I KNOW had more "skill" than I - we shared a love. We shared a love for our similar homes.

And the best thing is? Our kids are getting more powerful. We are growing faster, our houses are now sturdier and our nourishment expanded, and we are gaining experience at younger ages. And unlike the filthy food companies that inject their harvest with noxious hormones, we inject ours with love. Pure, manufactured love. This is who we are, and this is our religion.

So today, when I went to the skate park and spent two hours there attempting to "land tricks" (that simpleton lingo is so brutal to the ears) but learned nothing new, it may have appeared as if I came out of the experience with nothing but scuffs, scrapes, and wasted endeavors. But I had more than that. I had the dust on my fingers.