Skateboard
It was homemade.
Steel wheels from roller skates I cried my eyes out to get.
I wanted them so bad—then I never learned to skate!
Balance wasn't my strong suit.
Now they were put to use.
Skateboarding was catching on in the 1960s.
I loved to skateboard.
That is until the accident.
We were on the street in front of my house.
A bunch of us kids, skateboarding away.
I was skating down the road when another kid.
I think it was Roger.
He cut right across in front of me and I tried veering to miss him.
Right over a jagged manhole cover.
I went flying off my board and face down on the pavement.
Almost knocked out my front teeth.
I got to my feet, crying of course.
Shook up.
I stood there and called out “Help me!”
The other kids laughed.
I went back to my house.
I walked into the kitchen.
I saw my mother.
I wanted her to hold me.
I was still in shock.
My mouth was bleeding.
But when I went for her embrace she put up a cold wall.
I wasn't allowed beyond it.
I saw she rejected me.
I guess she was embarrassed by my public display?
She didn't say.
I'm 8 years old.
A fat little boy with glasses and more tears to boot.
It occurred to me then—I was on my own.
I was afraid.
But I had to accept her rejection.
There was no other choice.
I guess I was a disappointment to her.
I think that's when it began, the feeling of being separate.
Alone.
I never got over my mother's rejection.
Our relationship took a slight turning,
and we didn't quite fully connect again.
I still loved her, but at a distance.
