Starting in the fourth grade, my neighbor Buzzy rode his skateboard over to my house every day after school.

Balancing on the board was the first hurdle. Next came getting good speed. We'd always try and outrun one another.

See who could catch up.

And then you get these big jumps. Try to get as much air as possible.

We do this every day after school for probably the next, I don't know, 10 years maybe.

I mean, not really just skateboarding, actually.

We just kind of found the different interests.

He would do computers and I wanted to make music.

We grew apart.

He never really wanted to leave our hometown. I wanted to go see the big city. I went to college. He went this way. I don't know. It's sort of like that first time when you fall off the board. It feels really uncomfortable. Fall on your knees, your hands, you scrape everything up. You're just pissed off.

My mom was single raising me on her own and

Yeah, Buzzie would always come over and I guess it was just sort of like having a brother.

He would knock on our front door.

Yeah.

Busy was one of those friends where I, I mean I don't have any messages from him I

don't have any letters you know he wrote I don't have really anything tangible all I

have is just this sound anytime I hear a board anytime I hear that clapping I hear that wheel moving and how it spins in the trucks.

I guess it was a time when a lot of things are possible.

Not just necessarily anything, but everything, kind of.

We would look at adults and go, okay, we'll get there someday, but how much air are we

gonna get?

How much lift can we get?

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