Some of my fondest memories are of skating at the Axle Roller Rink when I was in high school. So when my daughter informed me that she was invited to her friend’s roller skating party but didn’t want to go, I was floored. What could possibly be the reason for turning down a skating party? Skating is fun! Skating is freedom! Skating is (forgive the 80’s slang, but we are talking my high school years, here) like, totally awesome!! But apparently skating (especially at roller rinks) has been on somewhat of a decline since the 80’s, because I was the mother of a child who did not know how to skate. This, to me, was unacceptable. I informed my daughter that she would learn how to skate, and that I would help her. She wasn’t very receptive at first, but gradually warmed up to the idea. I, on the other hand, was wayyyyy more excited than any middle-aged woman has a right to be unless sexual activity is involved.
That weekend, we went to my grandparent’s house, where all things of any sentimental value that no one else has room for reside. My daughter made a trek up into the attic and came down with what parallels a nostalgic single mother’s Holy Grail: my old roller skates. Sure, the laces were yellowing, but they were still intact, and the wheels still spun fine. I held my breath as I tried one on, and IT STILL FIT!! After 20 long years of waiting in the attic, my skates were once again where they belonged – on my size 9 feet. I reluctantly took them off and passed them over to my daughter who still was having a hard time believing her mom was a roller queen, but was utterly fascinated at the same time. As I chatted with my grandparents, I kept glancing over at her, while she tried on MY skates… I could feel the heart palpitations and the sweat on my palms and I tried to keep my voice calm and steady as I said, “Sweetie, those are way too big for you. Maybe you should just leave them alone.” She did what all tween girls do when their mother “suggests” something to them, she ignored me. Ok, just to clarify here – these were my skates. The remnants of my lost youth. I smoked one of my first cigarettes in the bathroom while wearing these skates, skated “couples only” with some pretty hot 80’s guys in these skates, learned “the jam” in these skates (and if you don’t know what “the jam” is, *sigh*, then I pity you, because you missed some good times)… thankfully, my grandfather got nervous about his carpet being ruined and made her take them off. (Sweet relief!!)
We made plans to go skating on the Saturday before her friend’s party – and when the day finally came, I was psyched. (I wish I could say the same for my daughter) I loaded her and her friend in the car, and we were off. Her friend had some experience, so I was optimistic that my daughter would be just fine. Besides, she had my skating blood coursing through her veins. For some weird reason, I found myself humming the song “1985” on the ride up there. But when we approached the rink itself, all other thoughts disappeared from my mind. I was actually too excited to think. We entered the rink, and the lobby was eerily quiet. For a minute, I panicked, thinking maybe it was closed, or abandoned, or maybe even condemned. But from just beyond a doorway to our right I could make out the familiar sound of skate wheels on polished wood. I ushered the girls through the door and felt the adrenaline rush. A skating rink! We were approached by a young woman who informed us there would be no drop-in beginner lessons today (our reason for going so early), but we were free to “practice.” She led us over to the skate rental area, where I proudly displayed my skates and cockily said, “I’ve got my own.” (Nice as she was – this woman gave me a really strange look at this point – go figure.) My daughter and her friend got their skates on, my daughter in the tried-and-true roller skates, her friend in those newfangled rollerblades. I wish I could say here that my daughter amazed us all and had the rollerblood in her veins too, but unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly the case. (Although she did wind up doing better than some of the middle-aged Indian men inching along the rink while holding the wall in a death grip.) I, on the other hand, laced up my skates with expert hands and prepared to stand for the first time in almost 20 years.
(Did you hear the drum roll? You were supposed to hear it right at the end of that last paragraph) When I stood, my legs were a bit shaky. I tried not to show the fear that crept into my heart - what if the roller queen was no more? What if I actually (gasp) fell? I took my daughter's hand and led her to the rink. As I alluded to above, she didn't fare too well in the beginning, but she persisted and got up every time she fell. After a few minutes, the speakers flared to life and Sheena Easton announced that all she wanted was to be someone's baby doll. Could that really be STRUT?? I don't think I have heard that song since I actually wore my skates back in the 80's. Sheena gave way to Blondie, and then we were headed on the highway to the danger zone. I swear, had I closed my eyes, I would've been back in Norridge at the Axle. (But closing your eyes while skating is not a good idea, especially when the skater in question is 20 years out of practice. ) I think it was a little bit of everything, the music, the feel of polyurethane wheels on my feet, the sound of other skaters skating around, because all of a sudden, I was no longer "Single Working Mom," I was "Hot Parachute Pants Wearing Big Hair With Lots of Hairspray Roller Queen." I looked at the two almost ten-year olds at my side and said, "I've gotta go around" and TOOK OFF!! Yes, dear readers, I still had it!! I flew around that rink with the breeze in my hair and a smile on my face. I blew by all the Indian families, and all the overprotective parents with their kids wearing matching knee/elbow pads and helmets. No safety gear for me, no siree, I was FLYING!!!! When I came to a stop back by my daughter, I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck, and could barely breathe. This after only once around. Maybe I wasn't as young as I used to be, but I still had it! To a point, at least. I didn't fall ONCE. And even though I woke up with unbelievably sore legs, I have vowed to return. My daughter enjoyed it enough to want to practice some more before the party, and I told her we will definitely go. And keep going. (And going and going and going)
The Roller Queen shall never die. (And will have hot legs for an older chick, if I can last more than a couple times around!)
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