WALTHILL — The click-clack of skateboard wheels on Main Street turns little heads at the skate park.
Moments earlier, about 30 kids were steering bikes down stairs, slipping down the half-pipe, racing scooters, telling jokes and running in a giant clash of calls toÌý"watch out" and laughter. Now they pause. And watch the 15-year-old racing down the hill.
"John's here," the kids yell. "Junior's here."
John Sherman Jr. has arrived at the new skate park in Walthill, a village that's within the Omaha Nation Reservation in northeast Nebraska. The skate park opened only days earlier, but so many wheels already have passed over its slopes and rails that they are flecked with white streaks.
Michael Grant, planning director with the Omaha Tribe, doesn't mind. He doesn't even mind that some kids have already scribbled a few messages in black marker. He wants every kid here. He wants them to know this is a place they belong.
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On that Saturday morning in October, tribal leaders, village leaders, guests and kids gathered to officially mark the opening of the park.Ìý
“Our community is the best," Grant tells the kids. "No matter what people say. No matter how people talk to you, understand that. You guys are the best thing that’s happening in this community."
* * *
Airborne, Sherman bends forward and grabs the bottom of his skateboard.
Under the August sun, Sherman's body casts long shadows on the surface of the outdoor basketball court — the smoothest patch of concrete in town.
The future skate park is just up the hill, but today, it's still a bunch of dirt and plywood.
Sherman and Kaiden Davidson, friends since kindergarten, are skating after their first day of sophomore year at Walthill Public School.
“If I’m ever feeling sad, I skate,†Sherman said. “Or mad, I skate. Any emotion, it’s just a stress reliever.â€
As Sherman skates, Davidson stands on his skateboard and watches. The wheels of Davidson's board are almost at the center of theÌýmedicine wheel painted at center court.ÌýThe black, white, yellow and red circle is a sacred symbol used by Indigenous peoples that represent their stories, values, beliefs and teachings.Ìý
Sherman lands some tricks. Other times he falls. Hard.
“It’s not skateboarding if you don’t fall at least once,†Davidson frequently reminds Sherman.
The sign outside Walthill lists the village's population as 909. A new stoplight installed inÌý July officially made Walthill a one-stoplight town.
“If I got blindfolded, got dropped off anywhere in town, I’d be able to find my way home,†Sherman said of his hometown.
The teenagers skate on the basketball court. They also used to skate on bleachers near the track and the parking lotÌýbehind the local bank.
"I feel like they just don't skate because of the roads (in Walthill)," Davidson said of other kids in the town.
Davidson and Sherman have skated on the town's streets, too. They have the scars to prove it.Ìý
Last summer, Sherman was skating really fast down the street and didn't notice the piece of wood until his front wheels hit it and he flew forward, scrapingÌýup his knee and slamming his shoulder into the ground.Ìý
The raised scar is still visible throughÌýa hole in his jeans.
Do wipeouts like that hurt?
"No, it tickled," Sherman said with a smile.Ìý
The nearest skate parks are in Iowa, about 27 miles away in Sioux City and Onawa. Skate parks in Omaha are about 85 miles away.
Sherman discovered skateboarding through video games. At about age 5, he was given his first skateboard by his sister's friend.
He started by sitting on the board at the top of his driveway and sliding down. The first time he tried to stand up, it ended badly.
"I tried going down my driveway and I ended up slipping down and falling on my back," Sherman said. "I got back up and tried it again. I did that the rest of the day.
“I didn’t give up because it was something I really wanted to do.â€
Up until age 13, Sherman could do only three tricks: an ollie, a pop shove it and a kickflip.
Then the pandemic hit in 2020, and Sherman spent hours skating on the sidewalk outside his mom's house and in the basement of the home.
Two years later, Sherman tries to figure out how many tricks he can do now. He grabs a nearby pen and paper and starts tallying. Five. 10. 15. Then he looks up.
“I don’t know if I can count all of them,†he said.Ìý
Skating has helped Sherman get through stress, anxiety and depression.
There was a time in Sherman's life when he stopped going outside as often. He said he stayed inside, played video games and drank pop.Ìý
"It was bad," Sherman said.Ìý
He said other teenagers have done the same thing. This summer, Sherman said, it felt like there weren't as many kids hanging out outside.Ìý
“It felt way more dead,†Sherman said. “Like no one is really around.â€
Being outside and skating has helped Sherman. He thinks it can help other kids too.Ìý
If Sherman has a bad day at school or feels stressed, skating, even if he's by himself, makes him feel better.
To learn how to skateboard, first you have to find balance, the teenagers said.
“It matters where your feet go,†Davidson said.
Grant, the tribal planner and Sherman's uncle, watches the teenagers skate while talking about the changes coming to Walthill.
“I don’t care about myself," Grant said. "This isn’t about me. I don’t give a dang about myself. It’s about my grandchildren, my children, my great-grandchildren and everybody else’s great-grandchildren, grandchildren and children. What are they going to have?â€
Grant turns to the other kids hanging out at the basketball court.
"What's the worst question asked?" Grant asks one child.
"The worst question asked is the question not asked at all."
"Are you tomorrow's leader?"
"No."
"What are you?"
"Today's leader?"
"How come?"
"Little eyes are watching you."
When the skate park finally opens, Sherman and Davidson hope they have to share it. They hope it's packed with kids who are interested in learning how to skate, ride scooters or bike — even if that also means learning how to fall.
"Keep trying," Davidson said.
"If you fall, get back up," Sherman said. "Don't be afraid to get back up."
* * *
The skate park was still weeks from opening, but the kids of Walthill were ready.
“We see more kids walking with skateboards now than ever before,†said Belinda Hinojos. “I see them just walking down the street. It’s not even built yet and they’re more than ready for it.â€
The new skate park is across the street from MorningstarÌýCounseling, where Hinojos works as a psychologist. MorningstarÌýhas seven locations and provides counseling to tribal communities throughout Nebraska, including to kids in kindergarten through 12th grade.
Hinojos had never seen the kids in the community so excited about something. She said there's not many structured activities or centers for the kids to hang out at.
On reservations, including the Omaha Reservation, there's a long history of trauma and substance abuse, Hinojos said. A large number of kids are in the custody of child protective services or living with other family members because their parents are struggling with mental health or substance-abuse issues.
“There’s been a lot of struggle, with historical trauma, with some of the intergenerational trauma, obviously with COVID, so to see the community and the youth especially hopeful about something, looking forward to something and excited about something positive like that, that’s what we want for our kids," Hinojos said. "We want them to be full of hope." Ìý
Plans for the skate park began more than a decade ago when the Village Board of Walthill created a strategic master plan. Kids in the community told the board they wanted a skate park, but the money to build it never came together.
Thurston County, where Walthill is located, is the poorest county inÌýNebraska.
Then one day, Grant, who also is the chairperson of the village board, got a call saying a man named Joe Starita wanted to talk to him about building a skate park in Walthill.Ìý
Starita is a former University of Nebraska-Lincoln journalism professor and the author of a book about Susan La Flesche Picotte, a member of the Omaha Tribe who became the nation’s first credentialed Native doctor.
Every year, Starita visits high schools on reservations to talk to students about their post-high school plans and to encourage them to apply for his scholarship, which helps Native students pursue those plans.
When visiting Walthill, Starita heard about recent suicides and suicide attempts among the youths in the community and became determined to do something to help.Ìý
He knew from spending time on South Dakota’s Pine Ridge Indian Reservation that kids would flock to the skate park if they could build one in Walthill.
“If you were to fly over the skateboard park on Pine Ridge, any time of the year, the view from above it would look like an ant colony," Starita said. "This place was just swarmed.â€
To test this theory, Starita and Grant conducted informal polls among the kids. If they built a skate park, would they use it?
"And it was just this unending chorus of 'Yes, are you kidding? Of course,'" Starita said.
Grant, Starita and others got to work raising money and planning. Starita said the goal was to raise $200,000, but in a matter of months they had raised almost $450,000.Ìý
Speaking at the celebration in October, Starita said money came from donors who had never stepped foot in Walthill but believed in helping children. They included the Lozier Foundation in Omaha, a famous author in Southern California, a female Vietnam War correspondent and other UNL graduates.ÌýÌý
With the additional money, and money from the Omaha Tribe, more renovations are coming to the park on Main Street, including a Boys and Girls club, new playground equipment and areas for parents and grandparents to sit and watch the kids skate.Ìý
“We’re social beings," Hinojos said. "Even those of us who may be a little bit more introverted, we still need connection. And we know the more connected the individuals are with others and when they have a sense of belonging then that is a protective factor against mental health issues, against suicide.â€
* * *
After speeches and ribbon cutting at the October celebration of the skate park opening, it's time to hand out a couple of brand-new $150 skateboards donated by a skate shop.
Grant shakes up a bag with names written on slips of paper and asks a kid to pull the first name out of the bag.
Grant glances at the paper and laughs before announcing: John Sherman.
Sherman, wearing the ribbon from the ribbon cutting like a scarf around his neck, walks up to his uncle and takes the board. He turns around and immediately gives the new board to Moises Del Angel.
“I was already praying that he was going to get it,†Sherman explains later.
Sherman and Davidson had spotted Del Angel carrying a skateboard around Walthill and decided they would teach him how to skate. But first, Del Angel needed a better skateboard.Ìý
“I know it’s terrifying,†Del Angel said of learning how to skate. “I may get hurt sometimes, but I don’t really care because at the end of the day, I get better and I learn more. I just think skating is fun.â€
Del Angel said he'd been interested in skating for about two years but started learning how to skate about a month ago. He plans to spend almost every day at the skate park.Ìý
“It’s like a sudden blast of excitement," Del Angel said of finally landing a new trick. "You’ve been trying for a couple of hours, couple of days, but once you land it it’s like all of a sudden you’re encouraged to do it more and more and do it more often.â€
A teacher recently asked Sherman if the kids who hang out at the skate park were from nearby Winnebago because some of them didn't look familiar. No, Sherman told him, they're all from Walthill.Ìý
"Before this was ever built, this whole town felt like a ghost town," Sherman said.
* * *
On a Thursday afternoon, Sherman skates after school. He has skated every day since the skate park opened.
He's bruised. Sore. And happy.
"I'm happier," Sherman said. "Mentally, I am happier."
Sherman used to walk through the hallways at school with his head down. He said he didn't want anyone to talk to him, and he didn't want to talk to anyone else.
Since the park opened, he walks through the halls with his head up. He smiles. He talks to everyone. He doesn't know if anyone else has noticed the changes, but he has recognized it in himself.
A younger kid on a skateboard interrupts as Sherman is talking.
"What is the best foot placement for this?" he asks, pointing to his feet on a skateboard.
"I think your front foot is off a little bit," Sherman answers.
Then, step by step, Sherman shows him how it's done.