Me, Dad and the Skate Park

My father is a good man, but when I was born he was just a teenager. It takes its toll on a person being that young and being expected to raise a child, to be present in a soon to be broken home in South London. Despite the doom and gloom of the concrete jungle, despite the ruthless predators and harsh environment, he and I still managed to carve out our own pieces of the city, namely our local skate parks.

You see my dad was a semi-pro BMXer on top of juggling a full time job and fatherhood. All our spare moments were spent in the skate culture which, despite its more colloquial reputation, was warm and welcoming back then. I myself could barely ride a bike so spent most of my time admiring the tricks my dad would do as he sailed over those concrete slopes. I'd climb the ramps and his friends would help me up, I'd scrape a knee and everyone would be there. Eventually I learned to ride a bike and it wasn't just my dad cheering me on, it was the park. Everyone on every ramp roared as I cautiously made my way over the smallest bump in the ground. Maybe my dad didn't really know how to be a dad back then but he was smart enough to lean on a community that fostered encouragement and positivity, and that's stuck with me. I could tell he was proud of me.

At times I was roped into a stunt where myself and 3 grown men would lie shoulder to shoulder at the top of one of the ramps, my dad would back up as far as possible within the confines of the gated off skate park and would race up to us. Naturally I was scared to death, being merely 4 years old I was sure that the bike would just squish me the second it touched me but, every time without fail, my dad flew over all of us. I remember those moments vividly, staring at the sky, petrified still, as my father on his electric blue BMX came soaring into view, blocking out the sun for a brief moment, filling the entire sky. I was in awe. Every damn time. Those were my moments to feel proud of him.

At the time I suppose I couldn't grasp just how much he must have been struggling. An aspiring urban athlete, a full time dad with little to no mental preparation, a full time job and a house to run. This time away from home was his time away from everything and, of course he couldn't leave me behind, but he took me with him. I never felt in the way, I was embraced and he was excited to share those moments with me and I with him.

The older I got however the more I realised that I had no interest in BMXing myself, nor sports in general. I think maybe that hurt my dad a bit but what he doesn't realise is how special those moments were to me regardless. I was involved in his world and even when his BMX career came to an end, we continued going to the skate parks together. It was as close to a traditional masculine father-son activity that we'll ever have and considering his admittedly traditional viewpoints on the world, I think that means a lot to him. He and I are very superficially different, our fundamental character is very similar but our shared interests are ultimately lacking, but back then we were just two lost boys from the same broken home enjoying a fun loving environment. It's not been easy but we've had at least that.

I love you dad.