My kid is relatively new to this skateboarding thing. He will never be a Daewong Song or a Rodney Mullin, but he tries hard. He and his friends skate whenever they can get together. They go to the park or set up a course in the street in front of our house.

They will, with no hesitation, pull junk out of neighbors’ trash to build more obstacles. An old toy table, scrap wood, pieces of angle-iron… anything they think they can jump, slide or ramp off. They take pure joy in turning rubbish into a makeshift skateboard park, skating for hours, attempting the same trick over and over again until they master it.

They don’t ask for expensive decks, or custom prefab components, they are happy making their own fun. The Boy is more proud of these trash skate boxes and triangle rails, and kicker ramps than any thing we could buy for him.

I remember as a kid spending all day at a construction site, newly dug, and a magical mud paradise after a heavy rain. We made castles, forts, and slides. By the end of the day we were caked, head to toe, in red clay. It was glorious.

To be young again. To be content with the simple things in life. To find happiness in the sheer delight of being a kid. To have more fun playing in the cardboard boxes than with the toys that came in them.

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