My youngest daughter has been getting into skateboarding lately.
She’s gotten pretty good.
She begs me daily to go to the skatepark here in town, and many nights we’ve stayed so long we watch the stadium lights come on.
Most others go home, with the exception of the kids that I suspect might actually live there.
“This is my passion” she calls to me.
The clap of landing.
Her wheels whir.
She has skated in the rain, when other kids left,
and has been told to stop practicing inside on the hardwood.
“Because it scares the pets. Look.
The cats have all scattered.
Wait ‘til tomorrow and do it outside on the cement.”
It’s the most happy I’ve seen her doing anything ever,
and with what I’ve witnessed the pandemic do to her, I’ll take what I can get.
She’s shied away from other people a lot;
gotten depleted in her confidence.
I have watched her from the bench, just looking around at other kids at the park,
like she no longer even knows where she fits.
Last week, when I took her back once again, the skatepark was oddly cleared out.
She was the only young kid there with a handful of men who clearly knew a whole lot.
Up onto the railing, sailing over garbage cans;
It lit her eyes, the wings they flew on.
I watched her observe from behind the cement post, trying to take it all in.
I knew that her mind was taking notes on their moves,
and that tonight they’d be attempted on repeat in my living room.
I could also see she was feeling a little bit like she didn’t belong that day;
A lone beginner, and skaters much more advanced.
She kept coming to me for drinks from the water bottle, and I perceived,
for some Mom Assurance, too,
so I encouraged her to just stick with it.
“It’s working. You’ll see. You are really doing so well.”
She would nod a slight, single nod, then go back out,
over and over getting a little more bold,
and before long I looked up to see this exchange happening with another skater who had been attempting a trick with no luck.
I could see her and a man talking, smiling,
then bumping fists.
I could then see the man light up.
I thought it, at first, just a passing thing,
until I watched as he skated off and I heard,
“That kid told me not to give up; That I am doing a good job and I’ll get it soon!”
The grin on his face – It was luminous.
I watched as other skaters began taking note of her, Little Legend,
and as one by one they nodded as she passed.
She went from being an invisible kid hiding behind a post to one that they all owed respect.
Later I saw that same man giving her pointers on the ramp.
I thought how sweet it was he was being so kind,
but later that man came to settle beside me on the bench, and he looked deep into my eyes.
“Ma’am? Is that your kid?”
“Yes. That is Paige,” I answered,
and then he held his chest.
“Man. What a cool kid. She really encouraged me today.”
He leaned forward, now clasping his hands.
“My friends were all telling me that I should just give up,
but then I heard her voice say I was doing good.
It just….did something to me, Man,
so THANK YOU, Ma’am.
Thank you for raising that kind of kid.”
Just then, Paige skated up from behind;
Slight smile, a knowing nod.
He knuckle bumped her again as she passed on her way to me, and then he said right to her,
“Hey, Paige, your words matter.
What you’ve got inside of you matters.
Don’t ever let anyone take that away, because believe me, they’ll try;”
And then this full grown man,
and this little skater girl
bid each other a “Nice to meet you again” and a “Goodbye.”
She got the tips from someone more experienced without ever having to ask,
but more importantly, as a lasting gift,
he called out words I hope burn in deep forever:
“I’ll never forget how you made me feel.”
I thought, as I walked her back to the car that day about the ripple of encouragement.
How it passes from us, on and on, disappearing far into the horizon;
It’s effects immeasurable, and without end.
I gave it to her,
and then she passed it on.
I wonder what he will do with it…
I wonder how many voices were silenced that day
– whether past, or future ones –
by one small person calling out to someone else,
“Don’t give up. Your story’s not over yet.”
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
