Roller Rinks

I feel like if you've been keeping up with my blog for this long, then you deserve to know about something. 

In college, sophomore year, a number of my friends decided it would be fun to roller skate in Sheldon at a little roller rink that doubled as a pizza place. About twenty minutes away from Dordt, it was close entertainment. The dress, they said, would be eighties sweat wear.

I wore gray leggings, a short one dollar skirt I bought at a thrift store, floppy pink socks, and an off-the-shoulder top, my hair in a side pony. 

Once there we ate pizza. Tiny hands from tiny children reached swiftly onto the buffet table and grabbed the cheesiest slices. It didn't take long for us to realize that there was an age gap in the skaters from 10 to 19, we of course being the older crowd. Kids weaved in and out, no fear, between me and my friends while we tried to retain body memory and keep our balance, the disco light swirling in all directions on the wooden floor. 

From time to time I took a break, but when they called age groups on the floor to do the limbo, I glided out, having secured my balance, finally, and felt confident enough to do this. The 19-year-old crowd got placed with the 10 and 11 crowd, so it was going to be a tough battle. 

 

One by one we reached over, grabbed our ankles, and avoided the bar. On the third time through I shifted my knees inward, head tucked, butt out, and that's when I heard it. My skirt was ripping off my body as I moved. Fully aware this was what it was, I toppled, sitting, other limboers avoiding me frantically. I felt my behind and a flap from my skirt--my one dollar skirt--hanging by its seams from my waist. Standing up, back mostly away the crowd, I attempted the best possible back skate off the rink. Okay, you know how to do this. Push both legs out and squeeze them back in. Do it. But it had been a while, so I scooted sideways. 

My friends still a bit unsure as to why I had removed myself but fully aware that 11-year-old boys and girls had bent over laughing, discovered the predicament quickly when they met me in the dark corner where I stood. Somebody gave me her sweatshirt to hug around my hips like we did in the nineties. 

If I ever have a child, I'm going to tell him or her that the world is unfair, and that this lesson can most effectively be learned on a roller skating rink. At this moment, for I would like to think my son or daughter enjoys talking to me, we will discuss protocol for roller skating rink parties, and I will help boy or girl conclude that the only way to look good out on the rink is to practice on one's own time in the driveway and to get friends to lower a broomstick and to double check their intended attire with me so that, at least for one night, he or she will have no real story to tell. 

The skating rink girls. What a fun group. 

This was a different night.