ACPEN
What I saw in that magazine, upon those pages, made
sense to me. I can't say why or what exactly it was about
it--it just made sense. The magazine represented a door
to me, and it wasn't until I got my own skateboard for
Christmas that I found the key. And it was/is the key to
the universe-skateboarding.
Thrasher Magazine was the bible in a sense to my
friends and I. We devoured every issue from cover to
cover and found upon its pages an identity, a reason to
believe and have faith. I know it sounds kinda corny, but
it's so true. My friends and I were so positively affected
(infected) by skateboarding, it gave us a sense of purpose
and direction which was all the armor we needed to brave
those dark and cold teenage years.
From the very moment I saw that first issue, I was and
have been and will to the day I die be a skateboarder. The
identity or the definition doesn't mean as much to me
these days, but after you've been skating for as long as I
have, you just are a skateboarder, you can't deny it.
A strange and funny thought: I plan on growing old and watching my daughter as
well as any other children I may father grow up, and I plan on being around to see
their children grow up. To think that I'll be sitting them down and telling them
"skateboard stories" is really incredible to think about. "Grandpa was a profession-
al skateboarder." Wow!
From seeing Thrasher for the first time, to my first days of sponsorship in Virginia
Beach, to going on The Hell Tour with Rocco, to turning pro for Powell Peralta, to
being chased through the streets of Italy with Tommy Guerrero by a mob of kids just
wanting to touch us, to recently skating doubles with Tony Hawk at the Plan B ramp,
I truly appreciate and cherish every moment.
Street skater, pool skater and one mean hockey player, Vallely (top) charges a frontside grind in
a backyard bowl. Clearing a couple parking blocks with a no comply (above) as Stacy Peralta
captures the moment for Public Domain. One big happy family (right), Mike, Emily and Ann.
An expression of inner turmoil-contorted mute to fakie (opposite) at the old Skatezone bowl.
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