Skater Fag

Kids can be cruel. Nobody denies this. And anyone who has ever been bullied or called some type of name growing up can attest to the fact that the saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me" doesn’t apply to them. Because truth be told, names do hurt. They break the skin and go far past the bone to leave emotional scars on the soul. Tiny little cuts not visible to the naked eye, but are real and exist just the same as a gaping surface wound. The cutesy, cliché "sticks and stones" saying is a favorite among parents. They attempt to sell their kids on this belief, hoping it will install a false sense of empowerment into the weaker individual and give them the strength to turn their back to it. It also gives comfort to the helplessness felt inside themselves in regard to their own son or daughter being picked on. It’s natural to want to protect someone you love from any and all pain. But sometimes a child has to learn to fight their own battles, overcome and rise above. Other times, parents have no clue that their kid is being abused by others, and in return, tormenting themselves with feelings of worthlessness and shame because of it. I was one of those kids who felt a zero amount of self-worth and an immense amount of shame.

To this day, my Mom still remains in the dark about this. I attribute it to the mask I wore, a mask I single handedly fooled the world with! I couldn’t admit that I was suffering because that would be an acknowledgment of not only weakness, but acknowledgment that I couldn’t handle the problem myself. I couldn’t have my Mother fighting my battles! I was supposed to be a man...at age 10. And part of being a "man" was handling it on my own. I decided the best way to deal was to go into complete and total denial. Admit nothing and deny all! Basically, play dumb until he was the one looking dumb for the all the accusations and storytelling.

His name was Brian and he was the new kid that moved in next door. He resembled a mixture of Louis from "Revenge Of The Nerds" and Paul from "The Wonder Years". In hindsight, I realize he was just a nerdy nobody with low self-esteem looking to make a name for himself on fresh turf. Perhaps he teased and tormented me because he was jealous of me? Perhaps he did it because I was younger than him, thus an easy target? Or perhaps he did it simply because he was evil! I tend to believe the later. I was what he called a "skater fag" - someone who was perfectly happy and content in his own little world. A boy with his board and not much else. I wore long shorts paired with oversized Vision Streetwear graphic tees, Converse All-Star canvas high tops (AKA, Chuck Taylors) and a slew of skater bracelets hand-braided from colorful woven string. I even had the "Tony Hawk flop" - a California skater/surfer-style haircut made popular in the late 80s by legendary pro skateboarder Tony Hawk. The "flop" was buzzed underneath and cut short all around, with the exception of the long bangs that hung low across your face and covered one eye. When you flung it from side to side, you were the epitome of cool.

I was pint-sized for my age and my Vision Psycho Stick skateboard weighed nearly as much as me. A scrawny kid who wasn’t much more than a ribcage and some sloppy laced sneakers. A strong breeze could have probably blown my bony body away. I survived on a skater’s diet which consisted of not much more than Mountain Dew and hard tack candy. It’s amazing I had enough nutrients in my body to pop an ollie! Growing up in a rural area is not ideal for a skater. The nearest playground was miles from me so cement, asphalt, and street obstacles were nearly nonexistent. Still, I made do by tearing it up on my sidewalk and busting tricks out in my driveway. Then, for my 10th birthday, my Dad surprised me by building me a quarter pipe ramp! I thought I had died and gone to heaven! Finally, an answer to the rural riding nightmare I was living. But my joy was short lived when Brian caught wind of my birthday gift. His taunting soon became relentless! So much so that I asked my Dad to move my ramp from the sidewalk into the cramped garage where I could close the door and skate in privacy...in other words, hide. Of course I didn’t tell my Dad the real reason why I wanted my ramp moved. I simply lied. I fed him an excuse he wouldn’t question so I didn’t have to experience further humiliation by informing him as to what exactly was going on. Like a good Dad, he obliged my request without inquiry.

I still don’t know why Brian felt the need to make it his daily duty to harass and call me obscenities from across the road. What had I ever done to him? I never even looked at him, let alone talked to him. His hatred had no merit, no rhyme, no reason. It was simply hateful and ugly. And it hurt me to the point where I hid who I really was and pretended to be someone I wasn’t, just to avoid the ridiculing. Obviously, this made me sad and it truly changed who I was. Or at least who I was as a child and how I enjoyed my childhood. It was bad enough to be teased and picked on at home in my own backyard, but it didn’t end there. It carried on to the school bus and into the classroom. That is where it really had a profound effect on me. This is where others, my peers, would bear witness to it. I made it my job to be one way at home and a totally different way at school. I wore a mask and I wore it well. Being a skateboarder wasn't cool at my school. So when Brian would tell all my friends I was a "skater fag", I acted as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. Me a skater? Ha! I would turn it around and label it as crazy talk in hopes of shielding my true identity. Or as William Shakespeare so elegantly once said..."God has given you one face, and you make yourself another." I would go on to protect myself like this for years.

Yes, I was a skater, but a fag? I really didn’t even know what the word meant and I doubt he did either. Everyone just knew it had negative connotations tied to it and you didn’t want to be labeled as such. I wasn’t gay, but I wasn’t into girls either. I was 10 for crying out loud! The only love interest in my life was my skateboard. I wanted to skate and I wanted to create. I was into drawing and writing as well. But just like skating, those two loves didn’t seem cool or appropriate for a boy either so I hid those parts of me as well. I hid so much of who I really was, that I lost my true identity and my individuality in the process. I had become a mere clone of what the public wanted me to be, instead of being me. Stifling creativity and repressing love interests is nothing short of tragic. It would take me years to rediscover myself and embrace things that once made me happy, like putting pen to paper. Other things such as skateboarding and drawing fell by the wayside. Who’s to say where those things may have taken me if I had learn to nurture those talents rather them fight them off like cancer.

Today, I’m no longer that frail boy. Obviously I’ve matured quite a bit. So at 6’1 and 190lbs, not only am a bigger, I’m emotionally stronger too. These days I wouldn’t allow someone to embarrass and belittle me into being someone else. I want to be me because that’s all I really know how to be. Honestly, people are going to find out who you really are sooner or later, so why bother wasting time and energy faking it? And even though I can’t get back those years of my childhood that I wasted feeling less than, I can learn from it. I can grow from it and vow never to repeat that same mistake again. Afterall, it is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for something you are not. It took many years for me to understand that. And even today, I sometimes have to remind myself of that.