Many moons, make that many harvests ago, when dad was slightly less portly, he had a fixation on skateboarding and surfing; slightly odd, considering being raised in Arkansas. He never was very good, but hung out with some guys that were, the most notable being this Gary fella that at 50 plus, is still ripping it up to this day. He and dad lost touch pursuing different family and career paths, but always remembered the crazy times, epic practical joke battles and other incidences not fit for print, at least until the statute of limitations expires.
(This post has been temporarily interrupted, as I have been overcome with the urge to pounce on dad, immobilzing his arms, and exfoliate his face with my tongue; I trust he has things on his mind other than the fact that my saliva has been enhanced with a refreshing drink from the Fountain of Swirling Waters.)
Where was I? Oh, skateboarding; recently, a “friend” recently gave dad a board. Obviously, the local ER is in need of additional patronage, and who better to swell their coffers than dad? He has kept it stashed in the trunk of the Limpala, fairly sure that mom and others would think (justfiably) that he had taken leave of his senses; what, a ruptured colon, Achilles tendon, detached retina and a particularly nasty hang nail not enough trauma for one lifetime?
Well, mom found the board; surprisingly, or maybe not, considering HER odd proclivities, she didn’t freak too badly, so dad took the board to one of his old skate spots from back in the day, a deserted (he thought) Target parking lot, acres of perfectly banked asphalt just begging to be carved.
(Another interruption; Mia has decided that it’s now her time to party, sinking her armadillo-like tongue deep into dad’s ear canal; dad was not pleased.)
Anyway, he arrived to find out that the Target is now a mortgage company with “no loitering” signs posted every 2.7 feet; as these signs make no mention of skateboarding, dad figured there shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, who’s going to hassle a middle aged white guy driving a Limpala? Wearing a yellow sweat shirt? If anything screams “over the hill, non-typical, non-threatening skater-type”, it’s any type of workout apparel. After a couple of passes, the old familiar neurons started returning, and so did the lactic acid, but the feeling was worth it,like being transported back in time; remarkably like motorcycling, the farther you look through the turns, the smoother the turns become. Dad starts feeling pretty sparky, until he catches a glimpse of himself in the plate glass windows.
If he had been wearing white, it would have looked like a midget version of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man; as it was, he was wearing yellow, so it looked more like a Peep on wheels, one of those little chicks you find in a Easter basket. Suitably chastised and out of breath, he was taking a one last run before collapsing when mom showed up with a sandwich, another very un-skater like activity, just in time to see another ridiculous looking middle aged guy enter the picture. A security guard, evidently annoyed to be awakened from his dreams of Daylight Donuts, emerged from the mortgage company to do his diligence and protect the premises from dastardly middle aged dads on skateboards.
They say that there is nothing more ridiculous than a human holding the leash of a defecating dog, trying to act like he’s unaware of what’s occurring on the other end of the lead; I would submit that a wife witnessing a middle aged security guard yelling at her middle aged husband for skateboarding runs a very close second. The only thing that could have improved the scene is if the guard had charged forth on a Segway and started chasing dad around the parking lot; and you just broke Rule #1:
When this transpired, dad had to look up his old buddy Gary and share the humiliation. As they revisited the past, the talk migrated around to the future and my story, as it usually does when dad’s involved in the conversation. Gary latched onto my story, the message of the crate, like few others have, and began using his formidable graphic and site building skills to compensate for mine and dad’s pathetic lack thereof. The blog and the FB are the direct results of his expertise, as is the Charlie Bravo line of goodies soon to be released along with the book.
Big things are happening at the Casa!