Elementary ‘90s Read Count : 119

Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

1993-1997 Elementary Days

(part of memoir)



I grew up around the lake, which meant that my parents, as well as the other parents, were doing pretty well, as they filled-up this quiet, retirement town full of wild kids who grossly outnumbered the elderly. Skateboarding was the thing to do. I had always considered myself a skater, even in elementary school. I had the the No Fear, Stussy, Mossimo and Airwalk shirts with skate shoes on, like Osiris and Airwalk, after LA Gear became uncool. 

Although, I had my skate style early on, nothing rocked harder than the Jnco pants. Everybody I knew had a pair of these massively baggy, denim tubes. You could house a homeless family of five with a pair of Jnco Jeans. They were hip, baggy, and ultra-faded, with the bottoms torn to shreds from sweeping the asphalt everyday. 

It was in the fifth grade when we worse these. If not skate clothes, Jncos, Stussy, or Yaga, you still had any sport brand: Nike, Adidas, Reebok, No Rules, and they were cool. It wasn't until middle school when everyone started giving a shit about what you wore. But before then, it was nothing but a "Gangsta’s Paradise."

No, we were not ghetto at all. Picture a bunch of skinny, semi-wealthy (mostly), white boys shooting a basketball, listening to Coolio—too young to even watch Dangerous Minds where that song was introduced—and that was us. 

I can't say I always enjoyed playing sports as a kid. But I had played everything under the fire in the sky the youth association had to offer, except football—I didn't know how to play. This was back when everyone had received a trophy, then went out for pizza afterwards. All year, it was either baseball, basketball, soccer, golf, tennis, karate. Besides golf and tennis, I don't know why I kept playing all these damn sports. I wasn't good and I hated running. I remember it was like I didn't have a choice. It was always time to play the sport that was in season. 

 I know if I ever had told my parents that I didn't want to play anymore, there wouldn't have been any problem. They only thought I had wanted to be with my friends. But I did enjoy golf and excelled at tennis. I picked up gold because my dad played and had a few trophies, as well as my Grandpa, on my Mom’s side. He was the pro at a city country club. In his office, you couldn't keep your mouth closed. Drool would hang as your eyes  were treated with the sheer sight of all that glistening gold. He must've had around two hundred golf trophies. During a Father/Son Tournament, I brought him to play as my Dad. Not that my Dad wasn't good enough. If it was my Dad and I, we would've still kicked ass, but my grandpa and I had taken 3rd place.

I was proud of that trophy. So proud I retired from golf. Forever. 

I had a great childhood, growing up with my friends and family. I was a good-looking, well-behaved kid, but I still don't have any idea what I had done to deserve the next three years that were middle school. 

I don't even want to get into it. Basically, coming into a new school where we were granted more freedom, had showed me who my real friends were. Puberty had given me more than weird hair and a cracked voice. It had given me a tear-jerking sense of loneliness, low self-esteem, kids who picked on me, constant self-loathing, the names "loser" and "faggot," and a paralyzing inferiority complex to wash it all down. I couldn't wait for high school… 


High school next...

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