Recently a crew of 18 friends and I flew to Cuba (via Panama) to give away skateboards to the kids down there who can’t get them because of the embargo. The full stories will appear in Vice and The Skateboard Mag in a few months. You can read the background story here. Or watch this inspirational little documentary on the scene down in Havana that prompted us to put the trip together.
I’d like to start by mustering up all the sarcasm I can and say this: I’d like to thank Vice for their undying support for my ten years of service. This trip could have never have happened without you. It is all thanks to you that I have a stack of shaky handi-cam digi tapes shot with my Parkinson’s hands of this life-changing trip instead of anything of professional caliber. Thank you. Always stoked to know you have my back. (Maybe I should have taken Kanye or Spike with me. Maybe then I’d have gotten a cameraman.)
On the other hand, in all seriousness, thank you to Red Bull, eS, Vans, Skatepark of Tampa, and Tomas Crowder at Wuweifilms.com for making this trip a success, and to all the brands that donated product for the kids. They were all stoked.
One of the people on the trip was my five-month-pregnant wife. And if I could turn back time, I would have never taken her. As uplifting as the trip was, I know that it has forever damaged our relationship and has most likely ruined our marriage. The last time I took her on a skate trip was to England back in October, before she was pregnant, when she was still drinking booze. It was thanks to the booze that she was blinded, unable to see that what I do is very, very easy.
This trip was different. After seeing just how little the Cubans had, not only was this trip an eye-opener for her regarding the unimportance of material items in relation to attaining happiness, but it was a realization that she can do what I do. With her sober pregnant eyes she watched my actions: immerse myself in the action, take some notes, shoot some digi photos, record some Quicktimes with the Elph. It didn’t take long before she realized not only could she do what I do, but she could do it better. I even caught her writing in a notebook. For pages.
While she slept, I read it.
I hated it.
It was very good.
It is Wednesday. It’s been raining for days. I am alone in our bed. My wife is in the office, MY OFFICE, typing an interview! Who the hell did she interview? I DO THE INTERVIEWS AROUND HERE!
I know it’s over. All the photos and videos below were shot by my wife. I’ve already impregnated her. I really don’t see what use I am to her anymore.