When I was a kid, we got our skateboarding kicks by careening down the hill in front of our house and crossing our fingers, as we blew through three stop signs in the short 1/4 mile run, in hopes that there wasn't actually a car crossing the road at the same time.
Mom? Dad? If you are reading this, I just want you to know that Steve made me do it.
In hindsight, that was a really stupid idea. I mean, who in their right mind thinks that they can pull such a stunt and live to tell the tale?
On second thought, don't answer that. It turns out that my own son just happens to be one of those people.
"Isaiah, do you see that ramp there? It is sure to break bones and is therefore off limits.
"Isaiah, are you listening to me?"
No, it's not because I doubt your abilities to skate down it. The problem is that our medical insurance says we can't afford it."
Nowadays, the quarter mile stretch of road that I skated on when I was a kid has been contained to a big cement park full of steep slopes, ramps, jumps, rails and stairs.
Why don't I feel any better about this alternative?
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