The dream of the 1990s may be alive in Portland, but a sense of nostalgia lives on in the hearts of many people of a certain age. I grew up in the era of baggy jeans, gangster rap, and pop punk takeovers. Someone called me an “elder emo” at one point, and I wasn’t offended.
Skateboarding was a way of life for me in a small bubble. I lived alongside the western coast of California. I was drawn by the extreme world of going fast, flying through the air, and technical showmanship that comes with skateboarding tricks. It wasn’t just a matter of riding, diving, and showing off; there was a counterculture to it all. There was a slightly rebellious ethos, albeit within the confines of “sports”, as some parents would note.
“I used to skateboard”, was something I never thought I would utter. I remember running into people saying that, and I would laugh. I would scoff at getting old enough to call it quits. I had moments of doubt and eventually stopped.
What happened?
I blew out my knee in high school and limped around a lot. I was playing hacky sack, and a student slipped and ran into my knee, dislocating it. I recall not skateboarding for a few months. Then life happened, and I wasn’t spending all of my time trying to learn how to kickflip, and well, I just gave up on it all.
It was too hard to skateboard.
I wanted to live the lifestyle and be part of the cool kids.
Skate or die! That was our cry.
There are other ways to support the skateboarding world. I collect boards now. I put them on the wall, and I admire them from afar. But as far as getting on a board, that’s a thing of the past.
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