Black Scirocco

My friend Brian Jonas from high school had a black Scirocco. He'd scoop me up and drive me to school if he saw me walking. I remember entering the dark interior and settling into the cushy leather while he loudly bumped Cabaret Voltaire and The Toy Dolls. It was a stick and I remember him busily shifting the gears and watching the metallic shaft dart about in its skirt of stitched black leather.

He was incorrectly labelled a "Mod" as were all New Wavers at my school. He also skated and built a half-pipe in his backyard. I couldn't "drop in" as they called it. For you non-skaters, that means to climb to the top of the ramp, and with your front foot on the skateboard, shift your weight forward and descend down the ramp. I tried once and took a hard fall. So thereafter, when it was my turn I would just start in the middle of the ramp and gyrate back and forth to generate speed.

But one time my dad stopped by to say hi and tell me it was time for dinner. One of my buddies said hey, Dan (I went by Dan then), you should try to drop in again for your dad. There was really no way out. I couldn't risk looking like a pussy in front of all my friends and my dad. So I get all the pads on and climb up. Everyone's watching. I drop in and fall into a crumpled mass on the masonite; my skateboard shooting out from under me and up the other side of the ramp.

That was probably one of the most humbling moments of my life. Looking back I've always took solace that my friend wasn't trying to humiliate me--he had faith in me and wanted me to conquer my fear in front of my dad, right?


note: the image you see is a compilation of screen-shots taken of a malfunctioning media player from Huffington Post. I call them digital pap smears.