The Pursuit Runs Deep

Look at him,
slicing through time on four wheels,


short shorts, steady stance,


a confidence I never quite inherited.

He built his own half pipes,

shaped ramps from plywood and grit.

The young man in this photo —

a version of him I never knew,

but still a piece of the man I do.

He chases what lights him up,


skateboarding, Isshinryu karate,


the hum of an engine he rebuilt with his own hands.


A ‘67 Camaro,
blue, like the sky stretching wide —


I see one, I think of him.

He pursues what he loves,


with the time, the money, the energy he has.


None of it passed down to me —


not the tricks,
not the cars,
not the katas in a Chatsworth dojo.


But the pursuit itself —


the way passion carves its own path —


that, I think, is in my bones.

I may not stand where he stands,


but I run toward what I love,


same as he does.