It's a Conspiracy!

At what age is a person too old to do something?  Reaction times lengthen with age.  As we get older, we get slower.  I may be admittedly impatient and walk fast.  But young folks still pass me by with ease.

Deep down, we all are afraid to share the road with some octogenarian who barely can see over the steering wheel.  As a matter of self-preservation, we secretly do not want to be passengers with our parents after a certain age.  Doesn’t each of us have a tale of a white-knuckle, nerve-wracking ride with a parent or grandparent doing  50 in the fast lane and complaining about tailgaters, but then asking, “Why do they keep giving me the finger?”

Recently, I started to contemplate hand-painting skateboard decks -- skateboard art.  Wouldn’t that just be too cool?  Cruising the internet for blank decks brought back memories of plowing hell bent on destruction down the hills of Berkeley or above Pearl City on boards mounted on clay roller skate wheels.  Those memories shifted my search from blanks to longboard skateboards.

Of course, the question rattling around in my brain was, “Am I too old for a skateboard?”  So, at lunch one day, I visited a local skateboard shop.  Coat and tie assured that I looked truly out of place.  

The visit, however, was information-filled.  If your longboard is too long, you are not welcome in stores because it is unwieldy.  Wheels vary depending on the surface.  You do not want too many bearings because your board might be too fast or too squirrelly.

“That’s very informative, but what about being too old for a skateboard?”  “Dude, I’m 35.  I’ve slowed down some but I’m still riding!”  Thirty-five is old?  Tony Hawk is 45.  Is he ancient?  “I need to think about this some more.”

When the idea was broached to Becky, her response was instant.  “No skateboard.  You know how many old people survive broken hips?”  What -- skateboarding is a death sentence?  Of course, that was the expected response.

The thought of being a closet skateboarder and keeping a board at work or hidden at the Doghouse occurred.  But before undertaking something so clandestine, I needed to find support beyond the assurances of the 35-year old proprietor of the skateboard store who called me “Dude.”

So I turned to one of my daredevil friends.  He had surfed.  Driven too fast.  Rode clay wheeled boards down the hills of Berkeley.  Been a downhill skier.  Now he certainly should appreciate my harebrained thought.  His response, however, was unexpected and immediate.  “Are you crazy?  You’ll break something.  I wouldn’t do that on a bet!  Envision yourself parallel to the asphalt two seconds before beginning run over by a bus.”

That should have put the kibosh on the idea.  Nonetheless, last week, Becky and I had dinner with our nephew.  He was an avid snowboarder.  And a skateboarder at one time.  I sprung my idea.  His response, however, was unexpected and immediate.  “Are you crazy?  You’ll break something.”  How did Becky get to him?

It’s official.  We have a conspiracy here.

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