Skidfest

As you probably already know (and I have annoyingly repeated), I created Skidfest in 1990. What is Skidfest? It's a musical benefit put on each semester at the University of Delaware by the residents of Skid Row. What is Skid Row? Man, you're killing me with these questions. Skid Row is a row (get it?) of 8-9 nearly 120-year-old houses located in a prime area just off campus. It usually has always attracted very eclectic and laid back renters who, shall we say, REALLY enjoy the non-academic portion of student life (nudge, nudge). I won't bore you with the details of how Skidfest came to be, but I can tell you it is now THE social event of the semester for practically every good time-seeking student at the university for almost 20 years now. Did I mention I was the one who started it all? See? I can't help myself. Fortunately, my self-congratulation will be coming to an end when I disassociate myself from Skidfest altogether. More on that later.

I attended the most recent Skidfest yesterday. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, the atmosphere was an amped-up mellow and the music was top-notch. If every student didn't have a cell phone, I never would have been able to tell if this was 2008 or 1990. Of course, if I really couldn't tell the difference, I'd be a freaking idiot, because I'd still be 24. Yeah, yeah, I know - it took me six years to graduate. I was kicked out in my sophomore year. So sue me already. Anyway, back to my reminiscing. I was taken back to those golden days of my college life and I started waxing nostalgic. The people I enjoyed so much are nothing more than dried rain droplets on the windshield of my soul now (yeah, I smoked some serious dope in college. That last sentence was proof). I miss people like Minky, the Borstelmenn twins, the goddess Sarah Jacobs, Kendra Bellville, sweet Stephie Katz and little Judi DeMartino. Let me tell you something about Judi DeMartino. She was, hands-down the cutest little cup of yummy you would ever have the pleasure of meeting. She was petite, with curly blonde hair and the most electric blue doll's eyes I have ever seen. And she was the funnest (is that a word? Probably not) gal I have ever met (ok, her and Kendra). She's married now, to a great guy, has two beautiful children, and she is still a stunner today. I also missed my buddies, guys like James Cottrell, Norm Washington, Rick Taormina, George the bartender at the Stone Balloon, and, of course, the Boys. But, life goes on, much like this paragraph, so I had better stop the Time Machine here and get back to the present day.

I arrived around 12:30 and the first band was tuning up. Already, I could see the gathering students throwing quizzical looks at me, whispering behind their drinks, "hey, check out the OLD guy...", and that's if they were being kind. Skidfest has become something huge and monstrous. I talked with quite a few students who mentioned it's the social centerpiece of their entire collegiate life. A guy from one of the bands told me it was better than his birthday and Christmas rolled into one. I suppose it's a little difficult to imagine the magnitude of it all when I initially planned Skidfest to be nothing more than a little rinky-dink backyard party. Oh sure, I had delusions of it being humongous and having a statue of me erected in the middle of campus as some sort of Party Savior, but, the truth is it far exceeded my expectations that first year. The folks who, year after year, perpetuate this gala are the real heroes of Skidfest. To date, tens of thousands of dollars have been raised for various charities as AIDS Delaware, Juvenile Diabetes, The Emmaus House and the survivors of Hurricane Katrina. When I say I am proud of Skidfest, I am not saying I am proud of myself. I am saying I am proud to have been associated with these students over the past 19 years, if only peripherally. As I told Alex, who was on of the people in charge of yesterday's bash, "Skid Row isn't a strip of ancient houses. It's a state of mind." And it's true. To look at all those joyous faces in the crowd, to see the various musical acts, it looked like a Benetton orgasm. People of every ethnicity, religion, economic standing, political inclination and sexual orientation claim it as their own, embrace it and remember it, long after they receive their diplomas.

As the steady stream of students paid their cover charge at the door, I thought to myself, these are tomorrows doctors, scientists, painters, lawyers, accountants, inmates, millionaires, business owners and politicians. These are tomorrows leaders. Tomorrow's parents. And not one of them - not a single one of them - will ever forget their years here. They will never forget Skidfest. I know. I'm living proof.

Of course, what would Skidfest be without some colorful characters? The first person I noticed was a huge muscular dude, about 6'5", shaved bald and shirtless, with tattoos all over him, including his head. You could always tell where he was, because when he walked through the crowd, a cone of silence followed him because people were awed. He's the kind of guy who looked like he would take on an enemy machine gun nest and kill every soldier with his bare hands. The kind of person whose hometown pubs would be rich with stories about the time he beat up a locomotive. I had some cat sit next to me, who was obviously trying to freak me out (sorry, no luck) with these vampire-looking contacts. They were pitch black with this almost neon blue on the corona. He seemed like a decent guy, but I think he was a little disappointed he didn't get a reaction out me. Wear those contacts to a job interview with me and he'll get a reaction, though. But, it's college, and if he wants to fly his freak flag high, I'll salute. I saw another cat who had metallic green hair, and damned if it didn't change color when he turned his head. I thought, we've finally done it. We have synthesized human beings with disco lights. I'm giving some serious thought to having that done to my hair.

Another amazing thing was seeing so many familiar faces. I'm not talking about people I have seen there in the past. I'm talking about seeing the faces of so many students who were the spitting image of people I knew back in my college years. It was downright spooky. It did occur to me, however, that I am now old enough that some of these students could be THE CHILDREN OF PEOPLE I KNEW IN SCHOOL!!!! A cold sweat raced all over my body. I hesitated to ask anyone their name for fear the response I would get back would be, "Hi, I'm Lolita!" I had an old biker-looking guy take a seat next to me who was verbalizing everything I was trying not to think:

"Man, look at the jugs on that one!"
"She's pretty sweet-looking."
"They're not too young for me!"
"I'd do her in the can."

He said he was there with his son. I was thinking this guy probably ate a lot of bad road in the 1960s and 1970s. I came to find out he was two years YOUNGER than me. I reached up and felt my beard coming in, long and white. Then I thought to myself, to hell with it. I may grow older, but I don't think I'll ever grow old. Hitting on girls who could reasonably be my daughter isn't my idea of a good time - and it certainly would be a giant slice of hell for them, so I concentrated on looking at the tree branches, the hot dog cart and the ground. I must have looked insane.

I took a look at my old room at 32 1/2 Academy Street, right there on Skid Row. I talked to some of the students living there, shared some old war stories (they all like hearing how things were "back in the day") and made some contacts for next year's event. I collected a rather radioactive glow from being in the sun all day, enjoyed some great music and met some decent people.

But, after next year, that all ends.

Next year will be the 20th year of Skidfest. The year after that will be the 20th anniversary. 20 years. Man, that's something else. 20 years of memories for me and countless thousands of other people. 20 years of good times, charity and spirited fellowship. I have seen relationships end there. I have seen new ones take blossom. I have seen old friends reunite in a cluster of hugs and spilled beer and I have seen heartfelt goodbyes, with promises to keep in touch. I have seen U of D students, townies and students from other colleges descend into the yard to taste the waters of unbridled youth. To guzzle it, bathe in it and share it. I have seen the denizens of Skid Row work tirelessly to pull off that legacy that has been handed down to them for almost two full decades. No one wants to be responsible for dropping the ball. Skidfest has to go on. It MUST go on. But, after next year, it won't go on with me.

I am no longer relevant. In truth, after that first Skidfest, I never really was relevant to it. At first, after I graduated, I attended because I still knew people there. I would check in every now and again over the next 10 or so years, just to soak it back in, to feel the rush of youth inside me, if only vicariously. In the last several years, Skidfest became more of an old lover, one that you pass on the street, smile reminiscently, glad to see she is well and happy, without any feeling of regret that things are no longer the same as when you dated her. You wave goodbye without any promises of calling or emailing, and indeed, none will be forthcoming. You'll reflect on the memories of her from time to time, but you have to get on with your life. 20 years is a long time for a casual relationship, even one that meant so much to you at the beginning. It's time for me to let it go. This time next year, I will attend my last Skidfest. She'll do fine without me. She always has. I will walk away without any remorse, without any sadness. I'll look back at the good times, the feelings of community and the memories, glad she is well.

Then I'll get on with my life.