Until
I was eight years old we lived on a very steep hill in the 2900 block of Post
Street in the Fillmore District of San Francisco (now called the Western Addition). Approximately
three blocks of that section of Post was a one way and though it
produced some traffic it was safe enough for the neighborhood children to play
outside. But of course this was back in
the day when children could play safely outside without the worry of someone
snatching them away from their family, having to identify with a “set” or a
bullet mistaking them for someone else.
The downside of growing up in an urban area is that the sidewalk
becomes your front yard.
There
were lots of children on the block and most of my “friends” were a year, two
or three older than me. As young as I was (between
the years of six and eight) I wanted to keep up with everyone else. I have never really been athletically
inclined. Don’t get it twisted, I wasn’t
a klutz but I wasn’t an athletic superstar either. I guess we could say I was
average, however, the advantage I had was that I was a kid version of a social
butterfly plus I always had really good treats to share. :) LOL.
Every time someone got something that was popular (bike, skates, skateboard) I wanted
it so I could hang with the big kids. As the baby of the family (then) Mom often obliged me. I’ll
never forget asking her to get me a skateboard but when she came home with it, I
told her it was the wrong one. I wanted one like my friend Jesslyn Gray, one of the big kids. I didn’t realize that Jesslyn and the others
were taller than me and my little inexperienced-non-skate boarding-athletically
averaged body wasn't equipped for one like theirs. Needless to say I kept the one Mom bought. 
I
forget how old I was when I learned how to skate on old school skates. I’m not talking about “in-blade” skates
either. I’m talking about OG skates that
were unisex, metal ones in the picture you see. You had to keep your shoes on to use these puppies and adjust them with the key. The skates could literally grow
with you up to a certain shoe size. There
was no rubber stopper on the front like the shoe skates they started making a
few years later. Stopping was the one
thing I wasn’t all that great at so I learned to use the closest object in
front of me. For example: a wall, fence,
parked car, or you, if you were in my path, but sometimes the initial impact bounced
me off the object or I missed the object and used my head, hands and knees as
stoppers. I have had my share of forehead
hickeys (from hitting a wall before I was able to get my hands up to block the impact), scrapes and bruises but it didn’t matter how many times I fell or hit something, because
I was determined to learn how to skate. My thought process was: if the bigger kids can do it, so can I. It didn’t
matter that sometimes the older kids snickered at me when I fell or hit something. There was an unexplainable feeling deep down inside of me wouldn’t let me
quit. My eyes were on the prize, skating
like the big kids and it didn’t matter what I had to go through to accomplish
my goal because I was determined to learn to skate, like the big kids. 
In
hindsight I realized a few things: 1) I was goal oriented as young as
six years old and when I decided I was going to do something, very little
could stop me; 2) I had no idea how dangerous it was to learn how to roller
skate on a steep San Francisco hill. Knee
guards and helmets hadn’t been invented yet but I’m sure the number of children
in my and other generations sustained enough injuries to inspire someone to
think of the idea and make their dream a reality by creating safety gear for
sporting enthusiasts; 3) the big kids looked out for me for the most part. I don’t recall anyone trying to take
advantage of me, in fact, when I fell and my forehead, elbows or knees made
contact with an object, one or several of them always escorted me home so my
mom could kiss it and make it better with a cold compact, some kind of treat
and her excellent tender loving care. 
Did
you hear me say that I lived on a steep hill in San Francisco? Did you hear me say I learned to roller skate
on that hill? Did you hear me say that I
sustained a lot of forehead hickeys, scrapes and bruises? But I never broke any bones; had a fall
serious enough to warrant an emergency hospital/dental visit or an incident so
catastrophic that it made me want to quit.
Did it have anything to do with my skill? Obviously not. You know why there were no serious
injuries? Because of God’s favor over my
life even as a young child. Do you know
why I didn’t quit? Because quit wasn’t and
still isn’t me. Sweetie, I learned to
skate ON TOP OF A HILL which means I could skate anywhere.
I
fell countless times, but I never stayed down, I always, always, always, always
got back up. I decided to look up the
word “fall” in the dictionary and found numerous definitions. For example:
- Fall (verb without
an object): To drop or descend under the
force of gravity, as to a lower place through loss or lack of support. To come or drop down suddenly to a lower
position, especially to leave a standing or erect position suddenly, whether
voluntarily or not.
- Extend downward;
hang down. Like a woman’s
hair or good weave falling down over her shoulder. I don’t think you can get the same affect
with synthetic hair, it might get stuck mid-air and not move at all. I'm Just Sayin....
- To become lowered or directed downward, as the eyes: Like someone staring you down and you break the gaze by letting your eyes fall away from their gaze.
- To become lower in
pitch or volume: Like a man who
makes his voice fall an octave to sound sexier or more masculine
The
first definition above describes my experiences in part. What’s lacking is a description of the
physical pain I experienced each time my forehead, elbow, rear end, etc. connected
with the concrete.
Clearly
I’m going somewhere with this blog but you guessed it, I’m out of time. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.
In
His New Excellence,
Tania
not Tanya
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