There are few things in life that are as much fun as rollerskating. I learned to skate from my father whose idea of "learning" was taken from some medieval torture periodical and it involved a lot of "falling" and "tripping." Really, my father's philosophy was: You must face the worst circumstances in whatever it is you're doing and learn how to overcome them. Then you can say you've mastered something. So learning to skate meant a fair amount of time on the ground, avoiding being killed by other skaters, and learning how to bounce back. Literally.
So my father would take me to the roller rink. He loved the bouncing organ tunes, the roar of skates, and the cheap snacks. I was 8 or so and being a short guy he was not that much taller than me. He'd learned to move people around the skating rink by gently putting a finger on their waist and maneuvering them wherever he wanted them to go. It was disarming but effective. So we'd careen onto the rink accelerating from zero to 60 within a half of a lap. He'd be moving people out of our way before they even knew some middle aged guy was swatting them away like tall grass. Occasionally my dad would purposely trip me. This encouraged quick lessons in getting back on ones feet and avoiding getting killed by other, usually larger, skaters. And we would go fast. Very, very fast. So fast that it was all I could do to hold my breath and hang on to him. My hair flying straight back I had the feeling like this is what it must be like to be a human motorcycle.
Then we would dance. Skating rinks offer certain songs where couples could go out and do a Fox Trot or a Waltz. My father could do these all - I guess this is what teenagers did during the Depression for fun. Skate-dancing requires both parties to skate in many directions, so I learned to flip my skates to go backwards, sideways, all the while keeping in time to the vibrating pipe organ music. I have to admit it was fun. Loads of it.
My father stopped skating when he got cancer and had an ostomy bag. He worried about plastic pieces flying off and causing a scene. I kept skating. I Rollerbladed across campus during college. I skated up and down the lakefront of Chicago in my 20's. I skated with my children during their elementary school parties. They were horrified when I'd skate faster than their friends, using my father's waist-maneuvering technique. But I didn't care because weaving through a sea of little skaters with my hair rippling in the wake is my definition of fun living.
Somewhere along the way I forgot that people get too old to Rollerblade. I accompany my husband on his runs - he on his feet, me on my blades. Up and over the community trail avoiding twigs and brush - bouncing to tunes in my head. I used the Rollerblades I purchased after college for over 20 years. They finally broke and I decided to get new ones - blue and silver, shiny and new. My mother mentioned that she thought it was quite optimistic for a 56 year old woman to buy new Rollerblades. Yes, I have osteoporosis and arthritis. My one and only concession to safety is to wear wrist braces. Otherwise I am the teenager on skates zooming by the rest of them. Wind in my face.
I'll do this as long as I can. There is nothing quite as freeing as doing something you've always done. Something that makes you feel young, limber, fast and slightly crazy. Something that pulls you back into that element that is and has always been you.
No comments:
Post a Comment