Blue plastic skateboard. I’m six years old in 1979.
Board of thick plywood that wouldn’t roll more than eight feet per push. I’m eleven years old.
Variflex with plastic wheels and no concave.
Rob Roskopp street with Indys and slimeballs wheels on which my style was first cut. Thirteen
years old.
Railslides on parking curbs and ollie airwalks.
Skating with the Dardanelle crew on the old lady banks, the slab and the church curbs. Hit ‘em and
go.
Canvas shoes with grip tape holes covered with duct tape.
Punk Rock.
Spraggin’s mini ramp.
Layback grinds. Backside airs.
Late nights of Wallows dreams and Nude bowl fantasys. Animal Chin and Wheels of Fire.
Park Motel Pool. Checking it everyday waiting for it to be drained. Hit it and go.
Crail slides. Sweeper. Frontside airs.
Skull skates Tod Swank.
Early evening cruises on the longboard behind the setting Memphis sun.
Handrails. Kickflips. half cabs.
Burnside.
Carves. Bluntsides.
Washington skateparks.
Layback airs. Inverts.
Sacred heart. Dead Guys.
Canvas shoes with grip tape holes.
Punk Rock.
Its not about the past or the future. Its about skating. Forever.