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My name is Patricia Doherty, and I can tell you the exact moment in my life at which the gray hairs on my head started appearing at a staggering rate – it was when my then 3-year-old son, Evan, told me he wanted a skateboard.

“A skateboard?” I asked, somehow trying to figure out where in the world my young boy had even noticed the mere existence of skateboards. I knew they didn’t mention skateboards on any “Thomas the Train” episodes, so then I had the horrifying thought that maybe the parental controls on our TV had been switched off to allow channels like MTV. “Yikes,” I thought, “what else could he have seen?”

I had reservations – HUGE reservations – about giving in to my son’s request. What kind of a mother would I be if I let my innocent, unsuspecting little man skateboard? Bloody emergency room visions danced in my head as I kept my voice calm, explaining in my best 3-year-old vocabulary that he wasn’t quite big enough – yet – for a skateboard. Little did I know how much I would later regret using “yet” in that sentence.

Christmas came, and after hearing months and months of the same question – “Am I big enough yet?” – I eventually gave in. Luckily, I got an insanely good deal on a skateboard that was on clearance. And those who know me best know that the only thing that comes close to my love for my son (or lovely daughter) is my love for a great deal.

So there it was, all wrapped up on Christmas morning – a shiny new Spiderman skateboard. Yes, this was a memory to be enshrined in the Doherty Family Hall of Fame for me being the “Mother of the Year.”

The skateboard had only two rules. First, no leaving the basement. Second, Evan had to be bundled from head to toe with elbow pads, knee pads, wrist guards and, most importantly, a helmet. (My husband talked me down when I mentioned the possibility of using bubble wrap.)

The way I saw it, after a few days of the “padding up” ritual, the skateboard would be history. Not that I was trying to discourage skateboarding as a whole, but my husband and I had pictured Evan someday playing for the Boston Red Sox. In my ignorance, I never thought of skateboarding as a sport. In fact, I never really gave skateboarding a second thought before it became my son’s only thought. Boy, how my life and my opinion were about to radically change.

Lessons from the Skate Park

Watching Evan grow in skateboarding was like watching a butterfly come out of its cocoon. I know that sounds ridiculously cliché, but when I finally allowed my son to venture out to his first skate park, after months of rolling back and forth in the basement, I saw something miraculous and amazing in him. It was something I hope every parent who visits this Web site will get to experience with their child.

My son, that same little boy who used to give up or say he hated an activity when something frustrated him, had changed. I saw him fall and get up, trying again and again and again until, at last, he was successful.

Sometimes he would succeed that day, but other times it would be days or weeks later. I will never forget the look of pride, accomplishment and satisfaction on Evan’s face after his first ramp, his first quarter pipe, his first Ollie. Now 4 years old, he was not the same little boy in the park that he was everywhere else. Skateboarding transformed him. Of course, there was still frustration when something didn’t go right, but on that concrete I saw determination in my son for the first time.

“Even the big boys fall down, Mom,” he’d say, pointing to the other, much older, skaters at the park. “But then they get back up and try again.”

The lessons from the skate park taught Evan something that, as a mother, I had been trying to teach him all along. Although they may not dress or speak in a way that is “approved by society,” those skaters had become very important teachers. By their actions, they showed Evan it was OK to “fall down,” as long as you don’t stay down. Don’t give up. Keep trying. The skate park taught my son the power of persistence.

Anyone can sit at the bleachers at a skate park (if your city budgets for them) and appreciate skateboarding. It’s when the boarders open their mouths that it gets frightening, but not for the way you might think (depending on where you are, though, there is plenty of that as well).

Skateboarding comes with its own language. And, unlike Spanish or French, you can’t take a class on this language. This is one of the ways we hope this Web site helps. We hope to save you the embarrassment of the “blank stare” when you are trying to converse in skate speak. It also keeps adding new words on a daily basis – each time a new trick or new variation of an old trick is accomplished. One of our goals is to help you handle yourself in the skate park, skate shop, or skate competition like a pro (or at least like a parent of a pro). We want you to be the hippest, coolest parent at the skate park! (Do kids still use words like “hip” and “cool”?)

Don’t worry, we will be gentle. Just stay with us.