M.

One thing that I really like is T-shirts. I like to have T-shirts that reflect my personality or remind me of my past. One such T-shirt for me is my Zero T-shirt. Zero, you should know, is a skateboard company, and I bought my Zero T-shirt in 1998 when I was really into skateboarding. 

Anyway, today I decided to wear this shirt. I wanted to take a walk, and the weather channel said it was about 70 degrees out, so I knew I could get away with wearing a T-shirt, and, well, the Zero one is the one I chose. Once dressed, I left my house and headed for this huge lake we have in Hamburg called the Alster. 

Normally when I take walks at the Alster, I read. Yup, I like to read and walk. But today I decided I'd listen to a podcast. So once I arrived at a jogging path by the banks of the lake, I put my headphones in and cued something up on Spotify. The only problem was the podcast I chose was boring, and my mind began to wander. Instead of paying attention to the program, I began to think about, of all things, my shirt and about how other people might perceive its motif, a black cat. This train of thought led, actually, to my thinking about something else, something much more important and interesting: an old friend of mine named Milton. 

Milton and I had been friends in high school, and we had skateboarded together. Sadly, he died a few years ago, but as the years have gone on, I haven’t stopped thinking about him. 

Milton was one of a kind. If I only had one sentence to describe him, I would say this: Milton was a unique person who was preternaturally talented. I know “preternaturally” is not a common word, but what it basically means is “more than what would seem to be normal or natural.” And that’s exactly what Milton’s talent was when it came to things he sought to master. 

I mean, it was like he would learn about a new skating trick on Friday and by Sunday would be able to do it perfectly. If you showed him how to juggle with three balls, he’d come in the next day and be able to juggle with five. I once showed Milton how to twirl a textbook on his finger like a basketball. Before long, he was not only able to twirl the book but also throw it up in the air and have it land back down on his finger, without missing a beat. 

But what this kid was talented at was skateboarding. He could do the most insane tricks…and with the cheapest of skateboards. With some of the cheapest of skateboards—skateboards with nubby wheels and ground-to-death trucks—he could do it all. Milton was preternaturally talented. 

And I thought of Milton as I walked along the Alster. I actually uttered this exact question to myself as I strolled: “What’s my favorite Milton memory?” At first, I couldn’t answer that because I had many. But I finally settled on a few of my favorites. I’d like to share them with you now. 

One day after school, Milton asked me to come over to his house and show him something. He wanted me to teach him to play guitar. Milton’s father was the superintendent of a building, and Milton and his family lived in the basement apartment of that building. Milton had access to an all-purpose room, and we went there that afternoon and sat with an old acoustic guitar of his. The guitar was a replica of an iconic Gibson, the one that has hummingbirds on the pickguard. I don’t remember if Milton ever got good at the guitar—he sure could have if he wanted to—but I certainly remember the joy he had trying to learn. 

Milton

Another great memory was the time we made a skate video. Milton and I loved watching skate videos together, and, as it so happens, we loved one particular video that featured a pro skater named Jamie Thomas who rode for, you got it, Zero. For the video that Milton and I were making, though, he wanted me to do a few tricks near the Great Neck train station, and I remember immediately after doing one, I looked back to see Milton right behind me. He was on his own skateboard, dutifully holding the video camera at an angle that I knew would make the trick I just did look cool. He looked so professional and in control at that moment, and I loved that. 

I continued to think of other Milton memories as I walked, but they were more fragmented. I thought about how, if you were to pass through Great Neck Plaza at any given point in the mid- or late-90s, there would have been a good chance of seeing Milton on his skateboard or his bike or even sometimes his rollerblades. I remember seeing him from my mom’s car a million times, and each time just thinking to myself, “Uhp, there goes Milton.” I thought about the outfits that he would wear and how much he loved shoes, especially Vans. I thought about how when I first met him, he had a thick accent—I think he was originally from El Salvador—but how his English and accent just kept improving over time. 

Anyway, after I decided that I had walked enough and that it was time to go home, I decided to listen to a song that always reminds me of Milton. The song is by Santana and it’s called “Samba Pa Ti.” “Samba Pa Ti” is played at the end of that skateboarding video we loved. Jamie Thomas, the skater for Zero, ollies onto a waist-high rail and proceeds to grind it for what feels like an eternity, all while “Samba Pa Ti” plays and the credits roll. Milton and I loved this part of the video.

Actually, I recently learned that the words “samba pa ti”  translate to “samba for you.” Well, Milton, brother...this one’s for you.