To Skate like the Big Kids

As a child, I liked to copy the skills that I’d hoped to emulate in my own life, particularly drawing, braiding my hair and mostly learning to roller-skate.

I had the metal, extension skates with red, leather belts at ankle and the clunky red wheels. My family moved from an old Seattle bungalow to a brand new subdivision house in a Salt Lake City suburb when I was five years old. There were already five of us and my sixth brother was born the year I turned six, my mom bringing him home to the new, red-carpeted house and I remember thinking as I peered into his scrunched, wrinkly face just how red and pinch-eyed he looked.

I met a friend just two blocks over, Stacy Muramoto and we both had the same metal skates. We used to skate up and down the newly poured cement sidewalks, careful of not being tripped up by the cracks. Many a Saturday, one or the other of our parents would take us to the real rink where we rented brown skates with orange wheels that were so much faster and freeing. The darkened room a spin with disco-balled Bee Gee’s pumping through the hi-fi, all a glorious universe I never wanted to leave.

There was a tall, blonde girl, probably twelve, who knew all of the cool moves, she could braid leg over leg around the corners, and not slowing one bit, as Boney M. sang Daddy Cool. She could just as quick flip into backwards while simultaneously rocking her slim, big-belled hips, her cool-comb-handled back pocket is what I followed through the crowd as I attempted to copy her every move.

Sure, my wheels caught onto others with my wild changes, causing many a confusing crash, and hundreds of times I wrecked into the padded corner walls full-force, but I was soft and limber and told myself my burned palms and skinned knees didn’t hurt too much. I’d brush myself off, scan the rink for her flowing, hair-comb combo, and skate as fast as I could towards her.

Video Credit: youtube: adygehayri