In the summer of 1976, my hometown of Lansford, was immersed in the nationwide bicentennial celebration, and also the 100 year centennial anniversary of our town itself.

Many community events were scheduled during this special year, including a good old 70s style skateboard contest: slalom, downhill (not really down a hill, but rather “down the driveway and then down the block”) and an obstacle course.

My father and I went to the contest to check things out and my Dad asked if I wanted to enter.

My response: “Yeah right.”

I was pretty insecure about pitting myself against others, and I was there to spectate only.

Little League, knee high football, organized competition - not my thing. That was the end of the conversation, or so I thought.

Recently, while scanning eBay, I spotted a bright yellow plastic Roller Derby 77K model skateboard, with red urethane “loose ball bearing” wheels. That board brought back vivid memories of 1976, so I bought it. You see, it was just like the board I rode in the aforementioned contest. Yep, I said “rode.”

Read on:

After watching the competitors’ warm-ups, Dad, in his not-so quiet voice, told me that he thought I was better than any of the other competitors.

“I’d bet you could win” he said.

“Aw come on Dad, I don’t even have a working skateboard right now,” I said, in hopes that he’d drop the subject.

He didn’t push, he didn’t prod, he just shrugged and said “OK. Then let’s go.”

I was quite puzzled as we walked back toward our silver 1969 Oldsmobile 98.

“We’re leaving?” I asked. “Not yet, son,” he said. As we passed the competitor’s registration table, Dad called out “How much time?!” A lady shouted back, “25 minutes!”

Dad bent down, looked me square in the eyes, and said “You have a whole bunch of parts at home, right?”

“Well, yeah, but....” I weakly replied, and that was all he needed to hear. We were back in the car and heading across town.

As we pulled in front of our house, the Olds 98 skidded to a stop like something out of Starsky and Hutch. Dad shouted “GO! I’ll wait here.”

The excitement of a looming deadline got my adrenaline pumping, so I threw open the heavy passenger-side door and ran to the basement where my box of “skateboard stuff” was stored.

Now, by age 12, I had built, torn apart, and reassembled dozens of skateboards but never, EVER, did I assemble a board with the kind of speed and purpose as I did that morning.

In literally minutes, my sweaty, trembling hands installed four red wheels, with 16 loose steel ball bearings in each, on the axles, adjusted the race nuts, and screwed two metal trucks onto the nearest deck I could find.

I ran back out to the car, jumped through the still open door, and off we went, back to the contest.

On the ride there I realized something, I was getting excited to compete!

So why, you may be thinking, does this nearly 50-year-old man NOW feel the need to own a toy skateboard? Well, for starters, to remember what it’s like to be a kid. To reflect on simpler times, the best times of my life. And perhaps most importantly, that board will remind me that when I didn’t think I was up to the task, my father believed in me.

We made it back to the contest just in time for me to register and I, still rather reluctantly, entered that contest. When it was all over, that board that I hurriedly cobbled together that helped me win the overall championship! At least I thought it was the board.

Over the years since then, I’d heard Dad tell my “Championship Story” about a dozen times or so, and I came to realize that I wasn’t just “my” story. It was “ours.”

I wasn’t the only winner riding home in the Oldsmobile that day, and “that board” wasn’t what made me successful. It was knowing that my father believed in me enough to let me, no, make me try.