Tony Hawk - Tony Hawk: Professional Skateboarder

TO MY FAMILY:
THANK YOU FOR ALL OF THE LOVE,
LAUGHTER, AND SUPPORT

It wasnt always cool to be a skateboarder. Today, if you wear skate shoes and baggy pants, you look like most of the youth population. Its the in look. People of every age all over the world play skateboarding video games and know the name of complex skate tricks. If you turn on the TV theres a good chance youll see skateboarding in a commercial or a contest. But back in the late 70s, when I started, skating was on its way out.

By the time I was obsessed with skateboarding, it was a geeky fad that only weirdos and nerds continued to doat least thats what my schoolmates told me. I was used to hearing their taunts, though. I was twelve years old, and I was the only skater in my school. I didnt look like anybody else. Scabs covered my knees and elbows, and my clothes were ripped because I was always falling while trying new tricks. Everybody else in school had Nikes or Adidas, and I had blue high-top Vans or Converse Chuck Taylors with gray duct tape crisscrossing the toe. I had to tape them together because they were falling apart from kneesliding. My days at school were spent keeping my head down, doing my schoolwork, and counting the seconds until the final bell rang, signifying freedom. That bell allowed me to go to the local skatepark, Del Mar Skate Ranch, and skate until closing.

The days and nights spent at the skatepark saved me. All my problemsmy lack of skate friends who lived close by, my tiny size, the fact that I was a walking scab collectionevaporated once I walked through the entrance door to the skatepark. I worked out any problem by skating.

Skating also taught me the meaning of focus and perseverance. One time at Del Mar when I was trying to learn a new trick, I set it up with an easy trick called a 50-50. It was simple; I just needed to grind both my trucks on the edge of the concrete bowl. I had done it thousands of times before. I could do it in my sleep. This time, though, I got stuck on the edge and started to fall. I put my hands in front of my face to protect it, but unfortunately, it was too late. My face bounced off the concrete. My mouth was full of blood.

Dazed, I stood up, and walked to the managers office. My legs wobbled, and I couldnt walk in a straight line due to my semiconscious state. My mouth felt weird, and when I ran my tongue against my front teeth, a bolt of pain blasted through my head. I wanted to start cryingthe pain was that bad. I had broken my front teeth in half. Both were now nubs, half their original height, and sensitive, exposed nerves dangled from the end of each. My parents, who had grown used to the occasional skatepark emergency calls, picked me up and drove me to a dentist, who capped my teeth. A few months later I was goofing around in a mellow part of Del Mar, and I slammed on my face again. This time I knocked my front teeth out entirely. Like the old saying goes, if at first you dont succeed, try, try again.

Copyright J. Grant Brittain.

Slamming didnt bother me, because I knew that was the price I had to sometimes pay to learn a new trick. And when I finally landed it, I knew it was all worth it. Afterward, Id immediately push myself to learn a harder trick. My time spent on a skateboard built up my confidence. It didnt bother me that I didnt have a girlfriend or wasnt the popular guy at school. All I cared about was rolling around with other skaters at the park and having fun. And as far as skating goes, not much has changed since then.

I was an accident. My mom laughs and shakes her head no whenever I say that, but its the truth. She prefers to say I was a surprise. My parents, who were both in their forties when I came along, thought theyd finished raising kids. When my mom had me, she was in the middle of completing her college education and my dad worked as a salesman. My oldest sister, Lenore, was off at college, my other sister, Patricia, had just graduated from high school, and Steve, my brother, was twelve years old when I, the screaming baby wrapped in a blue blanket, came home.

I was an absolute nightmare for the first decade of my life. I began committing offenses when I was still in my crib and barely able to walk, but I never felt anything but love from my family.

Because my dad worked full-time and my mom was at school, they hired an elderly, sweet nanny to watch me. I knew she loved me, but I didnt like the fact that she had control over when I ate, slept, and played. One of my earliest memories is of trying to score a direct hit on her using any toy within my hands reach. Id often wake up in my crib just in time to spot her peering in on me. Whenever I saw her head of willowy white, Id grab the nearest toy and launch it at her. I rarely succeeded in hitting her, but my trying was enough to make her quit.

I tortured a list of nannies and treated some better than others. But I treated my parents worst of all. My mom has dozens of embarrassing stories of me and my spastic temper. Once, when she told me I was old enough to sleep in my own bed, in my own room, I thought differently and decided to take matters into my own hands. When I thought my parents were asleep, I began the first stage of my special operations mission. I got on my hands and knees and crawled below my parents line of sight, or so I thought. I slinked down the hallway like a worm. Slowly and somewhat quietly, I pushed open the door to their room. Staying low, I silently crept to the edge of the bed, ready to crawl up quietly and sneak in under the covers. When I looked up to start my climb, Mom was there staring me down. I shook my fists at her, knowing my plan had been foiled. As I crawled back to my room, I swore in my mind to extract revenge at a later date.

Another time soon after, my parents sent me to bed earlyprobably so that they could get some well-deserved, relaxing time to themselves. I was so annoyed that I had to go to sleep while they were still up having fun, that I yanked all the sheets, pillows, and blankets off my bed. Carrying everything down the hall, I sat on the stairs and one by one threw everything at them. A shower of bedding rained down on them while they watched TV and just pretended not to notice.

My parents had to stop having guests over, because they couldnt predict how I would act. One time when I was about five years old, they thought Id mellowed enough to invite some friends over. I ended up crawling on the table and upsetting the place settings, not to mention my parents. Needless to say, after that they didnt have any guests over for years.

No matter what I did, my parents still showered me with love. They were incapable of being disappointed with me. One of my parents friends summed it up best when she told my mom she thought I was spoiled rotten.

Hes not spoiled rotten, my mom replied, hes loved.

Well, then hes loved rotten, the friend said.

F rom the time I was two, I knew I had my parents wrapped around my finger. There werent a lot of problems I couldnt solve with a massive temper tantrum. After a while, my parents always caved in to my demands. Naturally, I thought the whole world would be as easy to manipulate.

Cold hard reality smacked me in the face moments after my dad dropped me off at Christopher Robin Preschool. I was three and short for my age. I stared up at the tall chain-link fences that surrounded the school. They seemed as high as skyscrapersimpossible to climb over to escape. I couldnt believe my parents would leave me in such a horrible place! The first day was the worst of my young life. Every day we had to run through a fire drill. Wed file outside and silently wait for instructions from the teachers. At lunchtime we were forced to sit with our head in our hands and keep silent for a minute before we ate. At that point, I dont think Id ever maintained a full minute of silence.