Searching for a scuff on a stranger's shoe: I found my people and passion on a skateboard

This is a First Person column by Zev Klymochko, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, see the FAQ.

The first time I did a kickflip, I was amazed. Thrilled. I was 12 and practising on the driveway of my family's home in suburban Winnipeg.

Snap the tail of the board so it pops up. Kick one foot off the side so it flips in mid-air on the horizontal axis and levels off. Land back on top.

It's a common trick in skateboarding but way more difficult than it sounds.

I wanted to make sure I could actually kickflip and that my first successful attempt wasn't just some fluke, so I did it over and over again, then ran inside, breathless, and told my dad, "Come see! I just landed a kickflip!"

Like many young kids, I was looking for a passion and a place to belong. 

Skateboarding is a sport with its own fashion, music and language. My friends and I sought out videos, learned from magazines and met other skaters around town.

I wanted even more. The first skatepark I went to was on a family trip to Vancouver and I fell in love with the graffiti, the feel of the board slipping over the smooth concrete surface, and how I felt at home surrounded by kids just like me. Kids younger than me performed tricks I had only seen done by professionals in videos. I just knew they must practise there everyday. 

So I went back to Winnipeg and wrote a letter to the editor of the Winnipeg Free Press, urging the city to build skateboard parks there, too. I was just starting junior high and was so proud when it got published.

In the media, adults still treated skateboarding as a toy fad or an underground, almost outlaw activity. It was banned in parts of some cities, and the local skateboard shop in Winnipeg was a