Out in the World on Wheels

“Not dead yet!” 

This Monty Python plea from the old man in the “bring out your dead” moment flashes for me. I mutter this reminder from time to time when I feel old and realize I’m young. Ahem. I am! I’ll never be this young again. I’ll never be this young. Yesterday, my heart shouted this gleefully, fiercely, when my daughter and I went roller skating. 

It was her friend’s birthday, but it felt like mine. I turned 8 again. Make a wish! Like a time warp, I walked into a dimly lit roller rink. The rink is a relic from the 80’s, although it opened in the 90’s. Walking inside felt exactly like slipping my legs into my neon, color-blocked track suit I wore in middle school every time I went ice skating. On Fridays, my friends and I would zing around, cutting ice chips into the air while the Beach Boys echoed eerily over the sound system. It seemed like the only song that ever played was “Wouldn’t It Be Nice?” And it was. So nice.

Fast forward to my middle-aged roller-rink time-travel which entailed wall-to-wall carpeting that crept over everything, even benches. A neon-studded matted black carpet stretched as far as the eye could see. Cover it up and leave it for decades, like an overgrown forest. The carpet was the only creature comfort about the place. The rest was chaos, beautiful chaos. The wildness is what struck a happy, familiar chord. We’ll get back to that.

When we arrived, the place was quiet and empty. Before the place filled up and skaters cranked in an endless ellipse, I looked out over the huge, untouched rink. Something like envy passed over me (although I knew I would be out there soon). Maybe it was more “put me in, coach!” mixed with awe. The worn floor called for movement, full of possibility. I couldn’t yet see all the little divots and imperfections in the hardwood. While skating, I forgave them all. Each a story. Even before I laced up my skates, a bright inhale filled my chest and stayed with me for the rest of the day. 

After we got her into rental skates, my kid was off like a shot. She came to life out on the rink. 

I myself was excited and uncertain. I brought my own skates and they hung tentatively over one shoulder. Would I be the only parent out there? Would I crash and burn? A bit of vertigo and aging had kept me from traveling too fast in life lately. When I dance, I don’t jump. Merry-Go-Rounds are too much. When I do have the guts to lace up the skates at home, I bump along on asphalt which seems flat until you wear wheels. 

But when I finally got out on the rink, it was as if no time had passed. I wasn’t dizzy. I was 8 years old again. I was the confident skater I imagined myself to be when I bought these skates 3 years ago. As more people arrived, that feeling of bright inhale grew and grew. I blended in with the flow, driving forward. I could spin. I remembered how to navigate through skaters, judging their tempo and next moves. 

One of the great things about a relic rink from the 80’s that’s really from the 90’s is the lack of supervision. No liability forms. No helmets. No padding. There was one referee, but they were enjoying the skating as much as we were. The vibe of the live-and-let-live referee embodied the feeling out on the rink. We time-warped to a pre-helmet era where we all fell down and we all figured it out. Skaters fell left and right. My kid fell on average once a minute for two hours straight and loved every minute. Huge wipeouts, slow “oh no’s.”

As a parent, I do have a built-in safety patrol that is forever on high alert. But out on the rink, it was dulled to a nub. Don’t get me wrong. We have a ton of helmets in my house. But sometimes. Sometimes. You gotta fall. Kids figure it out. We all figure it out. We are free to fall. 

And the best part of it all (the best!) was skating side-by-side with my kid. We made such a team at 10 miles an hour. 

Walking to school the next day, we were running late. There were no good kid pants to wear. None. It was a dig-through-the-hamper day. Nothing fit right. After the tense get-out-of-the-house energy, we finally pushed out the door and glided downhill. She said, “you know how Daddy and I have Koala?” It’s a move where she latches onto his arm like an adorable marsupial. “Well,” she said,” now you and I have our own Koala.” And she took my hand like we did on the rink and we skated across the sidewalk with no friction.

I still have the strong sensation that I’m skating, time traveling forwards and back. I am back circling my basement as a kid in skates, gliding on concrete and swinging around the metal poles. “It’s a Hard Knock Life” plays over and over, but it isn’t. This is the life. I am flashing forward and I’m a little old lady as young as I feel, skating with my grown-up kid across the concrete in the sunshine. And I remember…

“Not dead yet!”

Huge thanks to the people who made all this magic happen…the birthday girl and her parents. Thanks for letting us share your big day!