Skate Party USA

One cold November morning on the way to school, my daughter said some profound words from the backseat, "I want have a roller-skating party for my birthday this year.
" Well, crap.

This was all a bit much to absorb. For the past three years we've booked a room at the Embassy Suites and she has invited two or three of her most soft-spoken and well-mannered friends to come spend the night. My friend Leslie, mother to one of them, comes to help and bunk with me in the adjoining suite. I didn't invent it. But I think it's one of the most ingenious parental conceptions since, well, the child.
"And I'm going to invite both third-grade classes.
Boys and girls," she declared in a way that made me flinch.
Once I came to terms with my own issues with loudness and lots and lots of other people's children, I recalled the last time I saw her roller-skating.
I had arrived to pick her up from a skating party and spotted her, down in a little ball, paddling with her small hands against the slick hardwoods.

"I have an idea.
Maybe you and I can practice roller-skating before the party," I reluctantly suggested. "It'll be fun," I cringed at the thought of myself flailing around like a cartoon. Children would point and laugh.
But I'd much rather them laugh at me, than at her on her birthday.
I guess.

"That's fine," she said.

"I don't think I need the practice but if you need to, that's cool.
" I found a rink in the next city where no one could possibly recognize us.
When we arrived the following Friday afternoon, I had to mentally shove myself out of the car and feign being pumped and positive.

This is going to be a nightmare, I thought trying to recall which socks I'd worn because I planned on throwing them in the trash when this was all over. "Come on sweetie, this going to be great!" I beamed.
When we arrived inside this place I was transported directly to 1981.

With the exception of the people (for the most part), everything was just as I'd left it in my memory.
It was as if I'd hacked my way in to some disco infused time pod, with steel rafters and Slurpy-stained carpet. My senses shifted into blissful nostalgic overdrive with the smell of pizza and nachos, colorful spots spinning around the rink floor, and even the way the skate attendant lethargically took our shoes and slid us our skates. My anxiousness evaporated, and I cast off my fear like a pair of knee-high tube socks.
Before I even knew what happened, I was swooshing from skate to skate, my hair feathering back in my wind, and my hips hitting every single beat of the music.
I was turning figure eights and occasionally crouching down to jut out a leg and "shoot the duck.
" It was just like I was nine again, not yet smothered with inhibitions or social decorum.

I was back in a time I'd forgotten all about.

A time when I was convinced talent scouts were following me and would surely snatch me up and ship me to Hollywood at any moment.
A time when I'd leap contiguously down grocery store isles; fan kick in the lobby before church (my mother's personal favorite); and recite scenes from the movie, Arthur, while in line with my mom at the bank, "Oh.

You're a hooker? Geez-sus, I forgot! I just thought I was doing GREAT with you!" I'd slur in my best Alabama-British. (No, wait.

That was my mother's favorite.) It wasn't before I flipped around to skate backwards, again, to 'Play that Funky Music White Boy', that I spotted my precious little girl clinging to the fabric wall.
I suddenly came to. It was like someone ripped the rink right out from under me.
I skidded over to her, "Oh honey are you alright? I thought you were right beside me.

" "Nope.

" she said. "You almost knocked me down when you were doing the 'Superman' a minute ago. It's okay. I needed to rest for a second anyway.
And it's fun watching you.
" My heart dropped into the boot of my skate.

I knelt down and took her sweet face in my hands, "Come on baby.
I want you to show me some of your moves.

" For the next two hours we held hands and skated in big, cautious circles, growing her confidence and shedding layers of inhibitions with every lap. Maybe I'll go back one day while she's in school.