Timothy is the first camper-slash-skater that I take aside. Since he’s Smile Academy’s best hopscotcher, I’m hoping he’s not afraid of hopping on a skateboard. I ask him if he’s ever been skating, and he shouts, “No! No! No!” He presses both fists into his sides by his ribs. A second later, he jumps on his slightly worn board, and latches on to my shoulder with a death grip. He bounces up and down on it like it’s a trampoline and falls on his butt. I wait for him to cry, but he doesn’t. He laughs and holds out his hands so I can help him up. He hops on the board with both feet and clings to me.
Before he becomes a human jumping bean again, I tell him calmly, “Timothy, see the wheels? You roll on a skateboard.”
I attempt to peel his clenched fingers from my collar bone and take the board away from him to demonstrate, and this time he does have a meltdown. He stomps one foot, then the other. He pouts the biggest pout I’ve ever seen. I take a deep breath and promise myself I will not say anything I’ll regret. I have to stay under control. It’s not easy! Lucky for me, Timothy’s dad, who has been watching us from the doorway, comes to my rescue. He says the right words to put his son in a happy place.
After a half-hour, there’s progress. I do what Odelia has suggested and take things step-by-step. I also compliment him. Listening to myself say, “Yes, you can do it!” and “Please try again!” I sound like a cross between Odelia and my sixth-grade art teacher, the super spunky lady who occasionally raved about my drawings. Timothy eventually learns to skate six feet before the jumping begins again. I’m proud of him. His enthusiasm rocks!
Camper-slash-skater number two is a Nellie look-alike in size and shape. Unlike Nellie, who has an electric personality, Elizabeth is quiet. She slinks over to me like a scared snake. I’ve only seen Elizabeth at camp once or twice. She’s always quiet.
“Elizabeth, are you sure you want to try this?” I ask.
She shrugs.
I touch her brand-new skateboard. It’s a longboard, not actually made for doing tricks. That’s fine, but how am I going to teach her to ride it if she won’t talk to me?
“It’s a great skateboard,” I say to Elizabeth.
She nods.
“And I like those flower stickers on your helmet.”
She nods again. I find Elizabeth’s mom leaning against the fence. She’s smiling. This gives me hope that I’m not messing up. I think back to how that dad taught his young son. They rode together. I stand on the board and ask Elizabeth if she wants to sit on it in front of me with her feet scrunched up to her chest and her hands holding on behind. Elizabeth doesn’t seem confident enough to stand. Plus, since she’s short, soft, and round, and I’m the opposite; our center of gravity will be off.
“Ready, set, go?” I ask.
“Go,” she whispers.
I push off, take it easy, and gently rock the board, slowly making wide turns around the other campers. We cruise past Odelia who is showing Robbie, Claire, and Joe how to step on the back part of the board so it lifts and you can grab it. They’re having a blast. We ride around Miss Robyn who is teaching the rest of the group how not to use the board as a hat, a bat, or a push toy. I’m so proud of everyone, I could burst.
Next, I weave around the cones, and Elizabeth wails.
Uh, oh! I got carried away. I’ve scared her. I slam down my foot and stop.
“Faster!” Elizabeth yells.
Oh! She likes it! Elizabeth may not say much, but she’s clearly in love with skateboarding.
Because everybody is being cooperative, Miss Robyn suggests we take the skaters to the park. I’m up for anything.
When we get there, I see Wyatt. He waves. I wave back. I hate to admit it, but I’m officially a waver now.
He asks, “What’s up? You here to practice the rock and roll?”
“I . . . um . . . I’m kind of busy.”
Wyatt checks out the kids. “Busy?”
“Volunteering,” I answer, and wait for the disgust to show up on his face.
“What?”
“I volunteer at that camp I told you about—Smile Academy. I do it twice a week. We’re here because I’m showing them how to skate.”
Wyatt looks from camper to camper. “Decent,” he says. “You want help?”
“Definitely! Can you check out everybody’s boards to make sure the decks are free of cracks, the grip tape is sealed on tight, the bearings are okay, and the trucks and wheels aren’t loose?”
“No speed wobbles,” he says, winking.
I blush. “Just wobbly campers.”
For the next hour, we’re like a sports team running drills. After Wyatt’s finished with the boards, he helps Tony, or Hawk, as Wyatt has nicknamed him, after Tony Hawk, pro skater. Hawk knows how to skate a little, so Wyatt teaches him how to ride up the small ramp, do a kick turn, and ride down again. Wyatt’s balancing on the coping to keep Hawk from going too far and flying off the platform. He gives Hawk a push when he gets close to the top so he gets turned around and can go back down with the right foot forward. It takes a lot of effort. There’s a lot of loud grunting, whooping, and hollering, but neither Wyatt nor Hawk say words that will get them kicked out
