With my helmet in my left hand and my Walmart scooter gripped firmly in the other, I entered the skate park. Twenty plus teenage boys sped around in the enclosed area. This place's reputation had left me on edge, and I was scared to even stand. Slowly my best friend Trent and I made our way to the back corner of the fenced in square. I buckled my helmet and pushed off.

Without any regard for my own safety, I quickly moved to the far left corner of the park. Standing on the far side of the obstacle eerily called the “spine”, Trent and I began our ascension to the top.  About halfway up, I noticed one of the older, (12-13 year old) skaters standing ominously in the way. Trent looked at the tween, unknown to me at the time, and politely asked him to move. He responded with a decisive “Do you want to die?” and continued skating. This was my eight year old introduction to the skatepark.

With my Yale baseball cap in my left hand and my newly bought skateboard gripped firmly in the other, I re entered the skatepark. Less than ten teenage boys sped around in the enclosed area, and I was now one of them. I put my cap on and began pushing, until I came upon a familiar face, the boy who asked me if I wanted to die all those years back.

Now standing timidly as a seventh grader, the long learning process that skating requires began. I spent hours upon hours trying to learn the basics, doing ollies and kickflips until I was so tired I could barely move. I observed that boy and his friends, avoiding their looks in terror, cruise around the park, I stood back watching, Matt Wendt, a local skating hero.

Around the same time, I started telling my friends at school that I skated. They seemed amazed that I stepped foot in the infamous skatepark, a haven for the rebellious/ bad teens in town. My reputation suffered, yet I continued on. I believed what everyone else said about the other kids that went to the park. Genuinely frightened, I was prepared to call my Mom at a moments notice. However, I still looked up to Matt and his group for inspiration, hoping one day that they would notice me, or even tap their boards on the ground after a trick, validating me and my abilities.

I looked for Matt and his friends at the skatepark every time I went. We begin acknowledging each other with a brief head nod. I followed him around trying to copy his every move. He started referring to me as “Little Jimmy”, because of my resemblance to another older kid named James. Soon he became my mentor, instructing me to “Just run into it,” or “You have to flick your ankle, not kick out your leg.” He told me how to perfect my skill.

Eventually we left the confines of our local park in hopes of finding adventure in other places. We went to skate parks in Bristol, Middlefield, Massachusetts, and my favorite, New York City. He taught me skatepark etiquette (the unwritten set of rules to abide by in a park), how to navigate around the city, and introduced me to so many new skaters I couldn’t keep all of their names straight.

This trend continued and, along with Cody and Connor, I skated with Matt nearly every day. Our group formed, and I genuinely felt as if I had another family. The people that I had once been so afraid of had become some of my closest peers. Erasing my inhibitions and diving into skating with a goal in my mind allowed me to find both a hobby and friends that I hope to have for life.

The boy who once threatened to kill me when I was in elementary school became both my mentor and one of my closest peers. The bonds I formed at this skatepark shaped who I am as a person.  And to think, it all stemmed from my first death threat.