I stole my daughter’s Christmas present.
Picture a skateboard, but rather than four wheels, it only has two, arranged in the manner of an in-line skate— one wheel in the back, one wheel in the front. Now, imagine that someone has cut the skateboard across the middle into two sections, then reattached the two halves with a rigid spring. Splash some pink paint across the top, and you picture a wave board, one of my daughter’s presents.
To get on the board, you have to both push it and jump on at the same time. Should you succeed, you keep it moving by twisting your hips back and forth— think “twist and shout.” When you build speed, you can carve across surfaces in much the same way that a snowboarder carves across the face of a slope.
The day after Christmas, I shyly watched my daughter zip back and forth along the street, her gracefulness amplified by the present.
Can I try?
She looked dubious, but acquiesced. After several less than graceful scrapes and pratfalls, I was able to maintain my balance. My daughter’s only comment on my success:
You look a little stiff, Dad.
For the next several days, I was able to mooch off her practice time. “Can I come with you?” I asked when she gathered her helmet and the board, heading for the front door. “Sure,” she would sigh.
Eventually, though, arrived the day that I dreaded. She didn’t want to go out, but I was craving some of that fishtail action. “I don’t really feel like it,” she said, her eyes glued to the television.
Would you—do you—can I borrow it?
Yeah, okay. Just wear your helmet. And don’t break it.
So I stole her present, and for the next 45 minutes, I twisted up and down the street, avoiding traffic, tripping over my feet, and sometimes carving a nice line. I can only imagine the neighbors’ reactions: “Eunice, come look what that fool Follet is doing. Does he think he’s sixteen again?”
One of the neighbors, passing me for the second time in his car, stopped, rolled down the window, and said,
I thought those were for kids.
I’m young at heart.
I called back. His face slipped into a grin. “I hear you,” he said.
Eventually, I returned the wave board to my daughter. She glanced up long enough to make sure I hadn’t broken a part of me, or a part of her gift.
Hey, if I get one, maybe we could go boarding together.
Sure, Dad.
A smile pulling at her lips.
In the meantime, though, I plan to steal her present as often as possible. And I’ll smile at the neighbors whenever I get the chance.
Robin Follet lives, writes, and cartoons in North Carolina.
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January 17th, 2009 at 1:21 pm
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