A poser learns a hard and painful lesson

I dreamed of being a skater. One summer afternoon, I came across a beautiful Element board that could make that dream come true. The problem was that I “found” it in someone’s backyard.

I was called a “poser” by the skaters. I dreamed of skating, owning Etnies, and having a board. I looked at decks, trucks, and wheels with excitement and hope, but I never got anything except my Huffy mountain bike from Wal-Mart and my Diadora indoor soccer shoes from the Hibbett Sports’ sale section.

Then came the day I came across a beautiful Element board. The problem was that I “found” it in someone’s backyard.

My friends and I spent summer afternoons wandering our southern town, walking through creeks, and getting lost in the woods. One afternoon, our exploring through the woods dropped us into a hoarder’s nest: refrigerators, motorbikes, bicycles, garden tools, outdoor furniture. Rows and rows of stuff, all neatly categorized. It was impressive. Like an outdoor thrift shop. And one section of that outdoor thrift shop was the skateboard section. There were at least ten skateboards there, all in working condition.

I don’t know how this hoarder managed to collect these things, but I did know there was no way he could use all those skateboards. I was a Boy Scout, though, and “A Scout is Trustworthy'' and would never take something that wasn't’ there's. So, we left the woods and walked on the road to hoarder’s driveway. He had a huge house, and it was falling apart. It was something out of a William Faulkner story. A man of about 60 years old unhappily answered the door.

The plan was to say something like, “Hello sir. What a lovely collection of items you have in your backyard. Just lovely! Someone with such a collection must also be lovely and kind. We were wondering, since you are such a kind, kind old man, could you please spare three skateboards for us poor young kids?”

He would say something like, “What nice boys you are! I really appreciate that you didn’t just take my stuff, but instead came here to ask. Of course you can have three boards. You seem like sweet boys. In fact, take anything you want! Do you want a dirt bike? Some bicycles perhaps?”

Instead, it went like this:

“Hello. We were back behind your house and saw some skateboards….”

“You went in my yard?”

“Well, yes. We were just looking.”

“What were you doing in my yard?”

“Just looking. Anyway, you have a lot of skateboards and we were wondering if we could have some?”

“No! Stay off my land or I’ll call the cops!”

The door slammed shut. We walked away quickly, scared and ashamed. But as we strolled around town, we had a realization.

“That guy’s an asshole!”

“Yeah. He doesn’t need all that crap.”

“He’s too old to skate.”

“Those boards are just going to rot in the rain out there.”

“Yeah, but we could actually use them.”

“Yeah! So, let’s just go take them.”

And we did. The next day, we went back to the hoarder’s paradise, sneaking quietly through the woods. We took the three best boards, including an Element for me. Since we didn’t really know how to skate, we carried the boards through town, looking like the badasses we were.

That evening, I took the board home with the plan to tell my parents that it was my friend’s board, if they asked. I put it on the carport, near the blue Ford Taurus my dad was doing work on. I needed a bath before dinner, so I went to run it. Sure, I was cool enough to own a skateboard now, but I still wasn’t too cool for a warm bath.

Photo by Curology on Unsplash

My mom always told me, “Christopher, quit running the bath without being in the bathroom. It’s going to overflow all over the floor.” Whatever. I was a skater now. I turned on the bath to fill up and went outside in just my boxers to adore my board a bit more.

Not knowing how to skate, I proceeded to roll down the steep driveway on my knees–kneeling on the board and holding onto the sides, I sped down the hill towards the carport. In my boxers. I looked awesome, I’m sure.

On one journey down, just as the driveway flattened before the carport, a wheel hit a rock or a crack, and it stopped suddenly. I fell forward and face planted on the concrete. I got up slowly, confused and with a few piercing pains in my face and head. My hands were bleeding. My dad, who was still working on the Ford, rolled out from under the car and asked if I was ok.

“Yeah. I just scraped my hands and I got dirt or something in my mouth.”

He stood up off his car creeper and came toward me. “Your face is bleeding, too.” He looked me over, and then told me, “Go in and see your mother.”

The “dirt” in my mouth turned out to be pieces of my teeth that had broken up inside my mouth–I now have a fake front tooth and another front tooth with a chip out the bottom. My face was destroyed–foreshadowing of my severe acne to come in high school, perhaps. And the bath had overflowed all over the floor.

A few days later, I took that damn skateboard back to the hoarder’s house and angrily threw it into his front yard. Walking back home I reflected on an important lesson I had learned from all this: Listen to your mom when she tells you to never leave a running bath unattended.