I’m on day five of quarantining after testing positive for COVID-19, and what I am yearning for the most, outside of spending time with my family, is a session at the skate park. Perhaps this is not the most stereotypical wish from a middle-aged psychologist and professor. Yet, outside of more formal settings like work and my kids’ school, the neighborhood skate park has unexpectedly, after 25 years of living in the city, become where I go to find my sense of community.
At a time when there is so much disconnection and loneliness in the world, I feel incredibly fortunate to have reconnected with skating in my 40s. Skate parks are vital social spaces in cities that bring people together from widely different backgrounds and identities, and promote physical activity — and they’re not just for kids.
I live a few blocks from a really terrific skate park in New York City, the Andy Kessler Skatepark, named after an influential NYC skater who was a part of a community in the ’70s that pioneered NYC skating and ultimately got the NYC Parks Department to really start building skateparks. It is among the cleanest and most well-kept public spaces I have encountered in any neighborhood. The park staff personnel, volunteers from the NYC Skate Coalition, and local skaters that belong to the community can often be found pushing a broom and tending to the space early in the day to remove garbage, sweep away leaves, and pick up errant twigs or acorns that might get caught in a wheel and cause someone to fall.
I started going to the park with my kids when my son was 11 and my daughter was 7. I had my own board but was too self-conscious to bring it with me, so I would just hop on one of their boards for a few minutes whenever they were taking a break with their friends. I suppose I didn’t want to look foolish in front of the other parents and didn’t want to get in the way of the skaters doing hardcore tricks.
As I went to the park more, I realized that any judgment I felt was actually coming from myself, especially as I began to learn its rhythms. I developed instincts about when to take a turn on the ramps and where to go to practice skills in less trafficked areas of the skatepark. Over time, strangers have become a network of faint but meaningful social ties, and as my technique has improved, the skate park now provides a sense of belonging and solace from the demands of the city.
I am not one of those people who was a great skater as a kid, stuck with it for several decades, and can still shred into my older age. I see those folks at the park and I find myself watching them in awe. Ironically, I can do more tricks now than I could do as a kid. Back then, my primary skateboarding goal was using it to get to the local bookshop to pick up the latest comics with my friends.
Despite possessing mostly rudimentary skateboarding skills as a kid, it opened me up to a broader culture of art, music and style. Discovering a real skate shop in the suburbs of New York (not one inside a bike shop) in the late ’80s and early ’90s was exhilarating. The art on the decks of the boards, the graffiti on the walls of the shop, and the punk rock on the speakers felt like a portal to a different universe. My life became so much richer because of skateboarding, and I even learned the flow of riding could unhook me from my anxious thoughts, something I struggled with from an early age.
Unfortunately, driving eventually eclipsed skating, and it wasn’t until my kids were old enough to skate that I found myself standing on a skateboard again. When I finally did, I discovered some of the social benefits of being an older skater at the park. At first, it resembled taking my kids to try out other sports like soccer or baseball. In those instances, most of the people I met were parents on the perimeter of the activity merely watching their children. However, encountering parents at the skatepark is different in a number of notable ways.
Skateboarding is the only recreational activity that my kids have pursued in the city that has not required a membership, formal belonging to an organization, or that is dictated by a specific schedule (other than the park being closed after hours or during severe weather conditions). I never feel the sense of comparison or competition between the children that usually comes with other types of youth recreation. There’s also a lot less pressure to connect with other parents because many of these families aren’t regulars at the park. Some of them come from other parts of the city for the day, and others live in the neighborhood and just show up every once in a while. This transient nature of skating makes other parents a bit more open and relaxed when it comes to socializing. Enduring connections can be built organically over time rather than being compelled to exist at earlier stages of meeting, and that’s a relief.
The skate park also offers easy opportunities for intergenerational connections. Interactions between people of all ages might involve simple things like new skaters asking for tips on balance, how to turn, or how to position one’s feet for an “ollie.” With my own kids, teaching them the basics of skating became a catalyst for sharing stories about my own life. I’ve shared the music I grew up listening to, the challenges I had to overcome, and the connections I’ve made between skating and life lessons like being in the moment, falling down and getting back up.
Studies by Robyn Fivush and others have long investigated conversations around the dinner table and have found that swapping these family stories is associated with better mental health. Young people who know more about their family’s history show lower levels of depression and higher levels of self-esteem. Recent research I helped to conduct found encouraging results from knowing the stories of one’s “chosen family” too. I personally find the dinner table the hardest space to get kids to open up about their lives. Chatting during the ritual of skating we’ve created allows us to build new memories together while providing opportunities for family storytelling.
I have also been so inspired by how many people my age are showing up to the park, and I have been reading about similar trends happening in other parts of the city with groups like the Brooklyn Skate Moms. Recently, I met a retired woman in the neighborhood who had never skated a day in her life. She found an abandoned skateboard deck in her building and spontaneously decided to take it to her local skate shop to get it fully rehabbed so she could ride it. While she was there, she met another skater around our age who now joins her at the park and gives her lessons. I’ve watched for months as she cautiously balanced and pushed along the perimeter. Just last week I saw her proudly pump back and forth on one of the ramps like a pro.
As my gratitude for the skate park and the people who use it grew, I began thinking about the other ways “oldies” like me can contribute to the scene. A lot of the work I do as a psychologist focuses on increasing access to mental health support through community-based mental health trainings. I, along with two of my students, Frank Watkins and Sophia Ryder, recently decided to examine this idea more formally by launching the Skate Mind Project.
The initiative teaches skaters to recognize signs of distress and to help connect anyone who might be experiencing mental health issues to services. We have partnered with skate shops, skate parks and local organizations to provide these unique psychological first aid trainings specifically to skaters in their communities. It’s been great to see a huge diversity in the demographics of people (including the older generation) who show interest in these trainings and want to learn these skills so they can learn to better support each other.
I don’t expect the skate park to explode in popularity the way pickleball recently did. The thrill of riding also comes with risk of falling, and at this age it hurts a lot more than it used to. When I do fall, though, someone always gives me an intentional glance and stops to make sure I’m OK. The skate community fosters a culture of care and mutual respect derived from the shared endeavor of learning new skills, the rhythm of the skate park, and each other. The next time you’re walking by a skate park, pause for a second, and you might be surprised by how many of us are jumping the generational divide.
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Adam Brown is a clinical psychologist and a professor of psychology at the New School for Social Research where he directs the New School Center for Global Mental Health. He is also an adjunct associate professor of psychiatry at NYU Langone Health. His work focuses on strengthening mental health systems globally and increasing access to care through community-based partnerships. Recently he has been a part of launching a new mental health initiative to reach young people called the Skate Mind Project.
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