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Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
A few months ago, First Person ran a story by Andy Lee. At 40, Lee wondered if it was a mistake to return to skateboarding. I’d like to rephrase the question, “What if you never stopped skateboarding?”
I’m 60 and wouldn’t dream of stopping. To paraphrase Charlton Heston, “You’ll pry this skateboard from my cold, dead hands.”
I distinctly remember the first time I tried riding a skateboard in 1975. A kid in my neighbourhood traded his board for a knife. I was a good ice skater but felt I’d fall off the board. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and I was hooked. For my 11th birthday, my father took me to Woolco to pick up a board. He paid $15. Despite the board having clay wheels, which meant for a bone-rattling ride, I loved being a skateboarder.
Soon enough, I found myself obsessing over how to get my hands on a skateboard with urethane wheels and spending countless hours reading and rereading every page of Skateboarder Magazine – the sport’s bible. At one point, six kids my age in the neighbourhood were on skateboards. We’d set up courses and glide down driveways. Skateboarding was about freedom and flow. I kept practising and became pretty good. This was a big deal because I was not that great at basketball, hockey or football.
In 1983, I moved to Toronto to attend university downtown and my skateboards came with me. When winter hit, I’d still be riding if the pavement was dry. At one point, a friend who was a student at York, north of the city, suggested we try the tunnels at the university. We started a session only to have it get shut down by campus security. The run-ins with security still happen to this day. Skateboarding taught me to question authority. It’s not such a bad attitude to have, especially in today’s political climate.
In the late 1980s, I purchased a longboard to experience more of what I loved: the wondrous feeling of flow. While street skateboarding is incredibly cool, the joy I derive from simply carving down the street is something that’s never left me.
I also got married in the late 1980s. I am grateful for my wife putting up with me dragging her into skateboard shops (a practice that continues today). When we had our first child, I knew I wanted our children to skate, so our daughter was on a board at age two. Our second child, a son, was rolling at the age of one. Finally, our third child, another son, was standing on a skateboard deck at 10 months. The net result is that when I ride with my sons at a skate park, most people can’t figure out if I am an older friend or father. (My helmet hides a profound amount of grey hair.) My two sons far surpass my skateboarding ability, and I couldn’t be prouder.
In the mid-1990s I created a website with my brother called SkateGeezer dedicated to skaters who had ridden in the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s. It eventually led to me writing a book, The Concrete Wave (The History of Skateboarding) and then a career in publishing at skateboard magazines. Not only did I get to turn my hobby into a job, I got to meet hundreds of skateboarding stars. It was a surreal experience interviewing and working with some of the legends who influenced me as a young skateboarder. At times it felt like I’d become a mash-up of Willy Wonka and documentary filmmaker Ken Burns.
Skateboarding is a great workout and definitely keeps you focused on balance (which is handy at my age). Mercifully, my injuries over the years have been minimal. I’ve been careful and retained a great deal of muscle memory. But thanks to the pounding I’ve given my knees, I can predict rain a day or two before it hits. The swelling can look like a golf ball when I fall on my elbows. Despite this wear and tear, I’m still out there. Every spring, my quiver of skateboards stands ready, waiting for the street sweeper to come through the neighbourhood to clear out tiny rocks and debris.
So, to answer the question, “What if you never stopped skateboarding?” You would have decades worth of golden memories, damn good balance and a heartfelt desire to pass down the joy of skateboarding to your grandchildren and, hopefully, great-grandchildren.
Michael Brooke lives in Thornhill, Ont.
