The Skating Rink

I took my younger son to a birthday party at a skating rink last weekend.  The skating rink is one of those places that I thought was awesome as a kid but see much more clearly as an adult.  Now, this was a different skating rink than the one I grew up near but I speculate that things are pretty much the same across the industry.  I used to be dazzled by the dim lighting with flashes of color and the loud music playing.  The skaters whizzing past and the blips and bleeps of arcade games created a buzz of pulsating energy.  And then there was the actual skating--the exhilaration of flying along a slick surface while wearing wheeled shoes, the wind blowing my hair back as I careened along, the thrill of stopping by flinging myself into the nearest wall.  Loud, dark, and a little dangerous; it was great!

These days I see the whole adventure in a totally different light.  From the time we stepped out of the car and I could hear the ribcage-rattling thump of pop music, I started to have misgivings.  If the music was audible in the parking lot, what would it be like inside?!  We entered the rink and the darkness hit.  There were flashing neon lights, multitudes of things glowing under the black lights, and the music pulsed throughout my body.  I became disoriented by light and sound, and further overloaded by the whizzing of children going past on skates, narrowly missing our toes, and the zig-zagging of children running through the skaters.  We sought out the birthday party among the craziness.  And the smell--sweat, greasy food, and feet.  I won't even mention the state of the restroom.  Just imagine a setting in which you fear the possibility of contracting a disease.  Perhaps it is a sign of being in my mid-thirties, but I found myself noticing the extreme youth of the employees--not one of them looked over 16!  Ah, a den of chaos chaperoned by hormone-addled teens with only a cursory understanding of responsibility.  What could possibly go wrong there?

We found our group and my son got set up with skates and a pvc contraption designed to help new skaters stay upright whilst hurtling their wheeled bodies along the overwaxed rink floor.  I had chosen to remain on the bench and watch my little man slip and trip around the rink.  After a bit, though, the dreaded question came--"Mommy, will you come skate and help me?"  Drat!  No way to turn that down.  So I paid the insane rental fee for a pair of inline skates and took to the floor.  The thrill of the wind in my hair was still there!  I happily zoomed around the rink for about 30 minutes without either falling or slamming my tender body into a wall.  I was almost able to ignore the dingy decor and the questionable cleanliness as I flew past those carpeted walls.

I'm not going to say that I wasn't sore the next day but the minor pain was well worth it.  It was one of those times when I was able to push myself a bit to be able to participate with my child.  That is a big deal for a fibroMIGHT.  Some days we just can't do what we'd like to be able to do with our kids.  Sitting on the floor to do Legos is almost always a no for me.  Running around outside is another.  So getting to skate with my boy was a real treat.  Even though I had to face the sensory torture of dim lighting, loud noise, and the sensation of being inside of a beehive.  Yep.  The skating rink was definitely better through the eyes of childhood.