appreciate this story: difficult child has found his anti-drug: no its not a job--much to my chagrin--it's skateboarding. Like with everything else in his life it has become an obssession. Last night we were all in the yard after Tripp got home from his NA meeting. He was fooling around on the skateboard. Well, he and his old/new best friend have built a mini-ramp of plywood and scrap lumber. They put angle iron bed railings on the edges to "grind" on. He was not really showing off, skating slowly, he goes up the ramp, the skateboard flies, and he lands on his back on the angle iron. His anxiety kicks in and he has a panic attack. He is lying on the ground and "can't move/can't breath" husband calls 911. Firetrucks and EMS show up (and half the neighborhood) and examine him. He is fine. He has an indent in his back from the iron and a bruise the size of a dessert plate. Refuses to go to the hospital. "All they will do is give me pain medicine, which I don't need to take anyway," says my little addict in recovery. "By the way, T and I are going to this really cool skatepark in ______________ tomorrow, and if I go the hospital, they might keep me!" Oh, the logic of a difficult child, but any obsession but drugs will do.