My sister-in-law posted pics on Facebook of my niece and nephew roller skating the other day. Seeing those pics brought back such fond memories of my childhood.
I received my first pair of roller skates from my maternal grandmother. They fit over your shoe and needed a key. You know the kind. They were metal and if you got a stone stuck in the wheel you did a header. Forget it if you mistakenly left them out in the rain. But they were the bomb and I was the shit.
I soon progressed to the white boot-like skates with the pom-poms and large pink wheels. Every Friday night I would meet friends at the local roller rink for a skate. I had my first kiss there. “Smoked” my first and last cigarette there. Broke up with my first boyfriend there (after my first kiss because it turned out he was more like a guppy than a boy). Songs like Rock the Casbah, Super Freak and Do Ya Wanna Funk immediately take me back to those days.
I was super talented. I went around and around and around. To the left. All the really cool kids could go backwards, go in circles, do jumps and could even turn right. Whenever they did that switch-a-roo thing to go in the opposite direction, I would panic and most often wound up doing a face plant. Good times.
I wonder if they have a roller skating rink around anywhere? It would be great fun to go back and reminisce, go forward, try to turn right, fall flat on my face. I should dig out my old skates. And old albums. Umm, nah. Never mind. I think I’ll take up knitting instead. So much safer. Well, until I poke my eye with the end of the needle. What’s the matter? It could happen.