A Fine Art
The kids and I have developed a tradition of trash-talking. It started at the basketball hoop with comments like “brick!” and “you’re supposed to put it through the hoop.” Since then, it has spread to other areas of our life.
The latest addition has been the ripstick. If you’re not familiar with a ripstick, imagine a skateboard that with only one wheel on the front and one wheel on the back. The wheels are on casters so they can spin in any direction, and the front and back halves of the board can tilt independently of each other.
You make a ripstick move by tilting your feet back and forth in opposite directions. Somehow, the rhythmic wiggling motion makes the thing go forward. It’s weird, but when it works it looks and feels super smooth.
Both the boys have long-since mastered their ripsticks. For Christmas, they got me one.
I’m still not very good at it. I can do okay when I have my left foot forward, but when I go right foot first, I’m doomed.
I don’t know why that is, and I’m practicing to get better, but right now, I’m limited to riding left foot forward.
The other day, as we were riding our ripsticks home from the bus stop, my youngest shouted “race you!”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Come on, Daddy!” He glided a circle around me. “You’re doing really good. Let’s race.”
“I’m not there yet. Don’t worry. I will be.” To prove it, I did my own gliding circle, nice and tight, and then resumed heading toward home.
“That’s great!” he gushed.”Now why don’t you switch so your left foot is in front. Then we can race!”
“I am riding left foot. . .” I started. Too late, he was already zooming away, laughing like a maniac.
Enjoy it while you can, little man. Enjoy it while you can.