When I hear wheels spinning, a grinding sound, and the voices of little boys, I have a Pavlovian reaction — I turn my head and think it’s my own skateboarding child.  Only it isn’t.  Not for many years now.   I knew all the terminology.  Doing an ollie.  When I took Barnaby to New York, he ollied off of all the Lincoln Center stairs. There’s a kickflip, a nosegrind.   Barnaby spent most days at various skate parks on the half–pipe, mega ramp or quarter pipe.   On trips, I might pick up a new deck for him as a gift.  But then he would still need the hardware, like the trucks and wheels.  The joke in our family about Barnaby’s physical activity and fearlessness was that he wasn’t from our family, nervous, not-too-sporty Jews, but from the Winter family (gentile).  The Winter kids don’t think twice about jumping off high rocks into water many feet below (or sometimes no water) as only one example.

Each September, for several years, we were lucky enough to score four tickets to the Emmy awards.  We have five kids, so the ones interested, took turns dressing up in their finest and joining us that night.   It was always exciting, and one year, it was my step-daughter Emma and Barnaby’s turn—to go with Michael (nominated twenty years in a row—not one win) and me.   Barnaby, twelve, but looking nine, spent the whole morning out with friends skateboarding, coming back just in the nick of time, that board grinding to a halt in front of the house, Barnaby drenched in sweat.  He took a quick shower and put on a suit and was fully out of character.  And yet, totally thrilled by the limo ride. (more…)