Skating

I've been wanting to take my daughter roller skating for a while now. It's an activity that I LOVED as a kid. I had a pair of roller skates with white boots and blue wheels. I skated on my driveway, played basketball on my skates, and generally adored the feeling of 'flying' around. My nieces in Seattle go skating too and their parents still enjoy skating with them as a family. My girls are young, but as an overzealous parent, I couldn't wait to give it a try.

Last Tuesday I took my five-year-old to the local roller rink for $2 Tuesday. Walking in I'm pretty sure I entered a time warp. The yellowed sign above the counted prohibited short shorts and tube tops and "Ice, Ice, Baby" blared loudly. The smell of a dozen roller rinks from my youth assaulted my nose. The teenager behind the counter lacked the bright blue eyeshadow up to her brows, but she smacked her gum and seemed inattentive.

I proudly paid for 2 admissions and 2 skates. We walked to the skate counter and the employee asked, "Skates or blades?" (Ok, that wasn't even a question when I was a kid. Am I old?) "Skates," I replied, while trying to explain the difference to my daughter, who opted for skates as well. As I laced up my skates, she informed me that she couldn't tie hers. Memories of my dad lacing up my ice skates poured through my head as I knelt next to her and tightened her laces. I held back the tears that formed remembering putting my foot in his lap and wondered if those memories mean as much to him as they do to me.

As we tentatively stood up, the number of years since I had skated seemed to pile onto me. Luckily, it only took me a moment to get the feel of the skates and find my balance. I reached for my daughter's hand as she slid off the carpeted block seat. A look of terror flickered across her face as she felt the skates move under her feet. (A fear that she would hate this and it would be a disaster might have crossed my mind.) But she looked at me with a determined smile and took my hand. She hasn't held my hand in a while, being the oldest of 3 - my hands are usually not available for her. It was a slow start; I sorta pulled and dragged to get her moving and after a few steps she seemed to get the idea.

With her clinging to my arm, I tried not to fall over as we maneuvered to an empty corner where she could practice moving on her skates. She would have none of that idea and instead insisted that we enter the rink filled with skaters. I noted a few other newer folks so we headed for the shiny wood and kept to the outside. She held the wall with one hand and me with the other as we tentatively inched along. That first lap took about 20 minutes, and I cherished every second of feeling her hand in mine. Watching her take on a new challenge while holding on to me for support provided such a beautiful picture of parenting in a succinct package.

I asked if she would like to try a walker (pvc pipe on wheels that you hold onto while skating). She agreed and I dragged her to the rental counter to procure one. Using it, we gained speed and our next lap only clocked 15 minutes. But alas, our good fortune ended. She insisted that she did not need the walker. Two painful laps later, I convinced her to give it another try. She obviously did better with it, but her stubborn determination won out and she abandoned it again preferring instead to cling to me as she slipped and slid repeatedly. Despite the 'mommy annoyance' I felt, as I looked at her I realized that I faced myself in the mirror - the fierce determination that would accept nothing less than the desired outcome coupled with the willpower to make it happen. With that thought in my head, I held her hand a little tighter and saw her determined wobbles with respect.

A referee shirt clad teenager skated to the center of the room instructing all the skaters wishing to play Red Light, Green Light to line up along the wall in front of the snack bar. Despite my best efforts, I could not convince her that either we should sit it out or we should get the walker. As the game began, we left the wall and I became her only source of support as we slowly skated on a green light. At least we had no trouble freezing on a red light since we never moved faster than a snail.

As the game neared its conclusion we had made it about 1/3 of the way down the boards. A boy skated up to us at breakneck speed. As he approached he wildly twirled his walker and hit his brakes executing an artful turn to a stop. "Hi Amyrlin!" he chirped. She greeted him in return and let go of my hand. Within a few moments she skated off with him, sharing his walker. I stood alone on the rink, a bit dumbfound.

I slowly retreated to the wall expecting her to return soon. A few laps later she did stop by long enough to say, "Mommy, I don't need you anymore. I'm going to skate with him now. You can take off your skates." Luckily she skated off before the tears fell.

From anticipation to actuality, fighting through the fear, helping them take the first baby steps, learning and growing together, and finally them letting go to fly on their own, I just experienced the entirety of parenting in a few short hours.

As I sat alone on the bench watching her skate with her friends, I felt alone and rejected for a moment. But those feelings were replaced with a sense of wonder at seeing her blossom. She was a shy, socially awkward child for a while, but her skills have grown so much. Her confidence. Her beauty. Her spirit. Watching her joyfully laugh as she flew past I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride in the extraordinary young woman before me and happiness that I could shared a piece of her journey.