One thing my wife and I have talked about over the years is the need for a person to exist in a ‘comfortable’ place. And when I say place, I don’t mean physical surroundings. I’m referring to the metaphysical place of existence for spiritual beings. Comfort in your skin, if you will. For example, we all grow up change clothing styles, change our hair, try to be preppy, try to be a jock, try to be Goth, whatever. We changes friends, change cities, and change our thinking along this path of discovery of self identity. We’ve watched this in both ourselves and our friends. Self identification is a funny thing. Most people don’t like who they are so they stay in constant motion to try and become ‘who they are supposed top be.’ I’m not being judgmental here. I’m no different.

Over the last five years I’ve been inarguably returning to my inner teen. If you are following on the calendar, this directly coincides with the knowledge of the impregnation of my wife with our first born son. Now, my wife would have you know that I’ve always been grounded in a little immaturity, both in appearance and in behavior far earlier than that. In fact, we stopped at a bar in our old neighborhood of Belmont Shore a few years back. The bouncer imperatively asked, “ID?” My wife was flattered until the happenstance of this event actually registered with her that it was me, and not her, that was being requested of said ID. In her defense, our ages are not significantly different. Yet, my board shorts, Fox tee shirt, and backwards cap may have had something to do with the inquisition.

All appearances aside, I typically gravitate toward more youthful interests. It’s just my thing. But I think this characteristic is a function of what I’m speculating at here. It’s that we all gravitate toward the comfortable points in our lives. We’re always trying to find who we are, and along the way, the light clicks on and its beams are shed on that period where you felt the most comfortable in your skin. Strangely enough for me, it was when I was an angst ridden and confused adolescent skateboarder.

As my interests and behavior come full circle and settle back into my early teen years, I find old memories resurfacing and a need to resuscitate some of the old me. It’s not that I had it all figured out then (or now for that matter). It just felt good to be alive. Now in this phase of my life where I’m a father figure, I’m channeling the old spirits of me to validate this new existence. Not to misconstrue my feelings on my current life, what makes it great is that the past spirits are actively involved in this new existence. I’ve settled back in to the punk rock skater that defined me as a youth.

As you re-embrace old interest/habits/vices, it’s important to have a supporting cast. My wife has been hugely supportive in my excavation of the early teen me. She advocated my purchase of a new skateboard five years ago, smiled as I skated off to work and laughed under breath, and she snapped pictures of our boys standing on my board as they grew. More importantly, she patiently listened as I blasted kids these days trying to skateboard, not understanding the history and the sacrifices, and using it as an image.

In that early teen stage, skateboarding was my basis of existence. Everything revolved around the next hand rail, launch ramp, or shred session. School, homework, girls, family, and even eating were behind skating. I have so many great memories from that era of my life. As cliché as it is, these memories are a coming of age story where I was learning about how the world viewed me. In the mid 1980’s, skateboarding was not fashionable. We were outcasts and defiant youth. That got us in to trouble but it also strengthened our resolve. We didn’t need to be ‘accepted.’ I learned early on that peoples’ dismissive thoughts were nothing more than their perception and not my reality. As long as I was honest and committed to myself, the world would begin to comprehend the true identity of my existence. Skateboarding gave me an outlet and irrefutable evidence that I can define my own identity and not have to exist in a predetermined rule set categorized by detractors.

So my new thing, while rediscovering my comfortable self, is trying to obtain the old skate decks I rode over the years. However, this is no small order as both the industry and the world have changed. I’ve been casually looking around and have come up pretty empty handed. There are two big challenges here: One, I can’t remember all of the decks I’ve ridden. And two, how can I find decks that are from an era long since past? Is this really a value-added activity in my home? Probably not, but it is yet another reason to create an elaborate spreadsheet to capture research information, availability, and pricing.


While my excavator efforts in reclaiming the depths of my action sports history may have no relevance on your life, I caution you in prematurely writing off my madness. Take a step back and consider what I am suggesting here. We, as adults, have settled in a ‘stage’ that is reminiscent of a life in our past. This postulate may not be entirely true for everyone. Some people just grow old and become curmudgeons who wear Birkenstocks and socks and whine about the youth of today and their parents. Those folks just try to avoid being happy anyway. But most of us, the free thinkers, the livers, and the vibrant souls, have grown up but not old. We have found something at our core that brings us peace and we treasure that. It’s a small thread of a great woven fabric that makes up our existence. It’s why there are cougars. It’s why grown men wear professional sports jerseys. It’s why adult women read teenage vampire stories. It’s why 35 year old boys skateboard. There is a piece of purity and immaturity in all of us from years back that we embrace.