When I was 6 years young, my father Greg (still living in New York at the time) would send the occasional package of goodies to my brother and I. I'd hit him back with a "Dear Gerg, thanks for the stuff. How's the weather? The weather here is sunny..." and keep it moving until the next time I'd see or hear from him. These boxes would contain probably some clothes, some baseball cards, maybe some McDonald's bucks. My recollection is foggy because one day the ULTIMATE box had arrived and nothing else mattered.
My mother had brought the freshly delivered, brown, cardboard vessel in to the living room where my older brother and I were told to sit down if we wanted what was inside. With criss-crossed legs and the patience of a dog balancing a treat on it's nose, Monty and I sat foaming at the mouth thinking about all cheeseburgers we were about to cash in on. Instead of getting the Hamburglar's earnings, my mom pulled out something I had never seen before - skateboards. One had a rat with freaky little teeth and the other had a mass hiding under a checker patterned rug. We both lunged forward and I snatched the checkered crawler board from my mom's hand.
As my eyes gazed over the board I knew something was different. This was my opportunity to be just like my dad. This was what he had done and now he let me in the club. I put that useless wooden toy right on the brown carpet and immediately stood on it. The skateboard molded to my feet and the sensation mainlined right into my veins. I asked my mom, "What do I do?". She said "You spin in a circle on 2 wheels... Just not in the house!" So spun around I did - right in the house. Sure enough I slipped out and hit the 3 foot tall glass door of the stereo case. Didn't break. Mom telling me "That's why I said 'Not in the house'". I was HOOKED. Thanks, Gerg.