Most Saturday mornings, this is where you’ll find me.
This is the Grownup Holding Area of the Sixth Avenue Skatepark.
I figure that, having spent about fifty Saturdays in this place, I am good and ready for the apocalypse. Don’t you think the apocalypse will have busted-out sofas?
The first time Clif persuaded me to take him to this place, I was deeply skeptical. He was still a novice skateboarder, working on landing his ollie, trying to do a pop shove it, with no HOPE of dropping in or working a manual. Not only did I think he would never make it down one of these ramps, I assumed I would never survive the soundtrack of this place, which averages about 125 decibels when somebody gets hold of the volume knob.
But when I looked up as we entered this mom-free zone, I saw a banner that was a clue:
Any skatepark with Johnny Cash looking down benevolently can’t be all creepy.
In fact, at this point, I look forward to sitting on my unupholstered wooden chair and listening to the music that gets into my bones. I think they play a geezer mix on Saturday mornings, because that’s when the young kids get to skate and the Grownup Holding Area is hopping. A lot of Creedence Clearwater Revival and Bob Dylan.
Some parents bring their own fold-up chairs like they’re at their kid’s flag football game, so worrisome is the sofa situation.
Occasionally, the music turns into a murky contemporary Christian rock thing, because the place is run by contemporary Christians, but I only figure this out when I hear a loud, wailing, “Salvaaaaaaaaaation” in some song that sounds like a U2 knockoff.
I have done a lot of knitting in this place, and I was so productive this past Saturday that I seamed up my whole Yank coat and was left with setting in the sleeves. I had planned to set in the sleeves back at home, because I like to do a lot of pinning and futzing when I’m setting in a sleeve. But the spirit took hold of me, and I stitched them in freehand, no pins, no nothing–and I even landed them in place with the right side out.
Clif landed an axle stall at just about the same time. You should see the guy these days: a small Tony Hawk, flying around, launching himself with glee.
“We’ve got a pretty good deal going, don’t we?” he said as we headed home. “You knit, I skate.”