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Hard Work being a Skinhead

Being a Skinhead is Hard Work, and Takes Effort, but is Worth Every Minute

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Being a Skinhead is hard work, and takes effort, but is worth every minute
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How did it start? When did it start? The idea of me being a skinhead? I thought about this many times and as best as I can recollect, it started in Toronto, Canada where my dad managed a music club. I was all of 8 years old when I saw my first skinhead. And I remember looking at his bald head and shiny red boots and wondering how they got so shiny, both his head and his boots. I recall asking him why he was bald and how did he get his boots to look like glass. He was a tall guy, and he looked down at me and smiled and said, "work, hard work, laddie buck". That’s what it takes, work, and hard work, and don’t you forget it."
Forget it I did. That was over 8 years ago. By the time I was 16, I was living in Atlanta Georgia and going to High School, when one day, I met "Black Flag Andy", a skinhead. And all of a sudden, my Canadian skinhead memories came flooding back to me. And I realized that I had always down deep wanted to be a skinhead. The skinhead look was sure different from the hip-hop look going around in our school, and I knew I would get a lot of static from my friends and the dumb assholes who believed the media run-up that all skins are Nazis. But what the fuck, I wanted to be a skin, so buzz off to them! sean15s.jpg (14626 bytes)
sean4s.jpg (12389 bytes) I soon realized that with work, I too could become a skinhead, and that was the day I claimed. Black Flag Andy had told me about a skin store called "Crash and Burn" in Atlanta. So on the next Saturday, I asked Andy if we could check it out, and "WOW!", Skin Heaven.
I didn’t have money for the docs just then, but I did have a new job at the local supermarket, and knew that with "work", I would soon have a pair of red, steel-toed, 14-eyelet docs, to start my journey into skinhood. And soon after came the straight-leg Levi’s, the braces, the flight jacket, and the #1 crop, and it was cool! Before long, I was a regular at all the Oi and hardcore shows, skanking, and stomping to the Templars, Drop Kick Murphys, reading the zines, and collecting tunes by "Sick of it All", "Negative Approach", "Judge Dredd", "Logger Lads", and "Youth of Today". Hey, it’s the best thing that happened to me, becoming a skinhead boot-boy. Because for the first time in my life, I didn’t follow the crowd, but became my own person. And since I became a skin, I have some met really neat people, and some really dumb people, who think all skins are racist. I am now 19, and realize people who put down skinheads are the ones who have the problem, not me. In fact, they’re the ones who are the real racists, judging all skins via a nazi stereotype. sean5s.jpg (13088 bytes)

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My folks go back up to Toronto on holidays, so I get a chance during the summer to hang out with the Toronto Skins, and in particular, a neat Chelsea, named Sarah. I now realize that I belong to a world-wide cult of people that believe what that Canadian bald-headed skin told me years ago, "Work mate, that’s what it take, hard work, and don’t you forget it!". And you know what, he was right! Being a skinhead is hard work and takes a lot of effort, but worth every minute of it, and I promise I won’t forget it this time.

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