After 21+ years together (9+ of those in wedlock) my Wife and I finally got our roller boogie on...so to speak.
We had never held hands while tripping the disco ball fantastic (and each other) on the oval floored floodlit stage known as the roller skating rink...until last Friday.
Hard to imagine, I know.
A local roller rink in the big town 40 miles north of us pulled a sneaky marketing ploy and somehow managed to get "free entry with a paying entry" passes tucked into every backpack around town. Since we have two backpacks currently taking up space on the floor by the entry way, two of the inviting scraps of laser printed paper made it into our daughter's hands, soon to be displayed before our eyes.
After a few furtive glances back and forth between ourselves, Wifey and I gave the thumbs up, all the while rubbing our knees as if apologizing in advance for the torture we were about to unleash upon them.
"Wait," you exclaim, "don't tell me you were actually contemplating skating with your children?"
Foolishly, yes. I mean, what's the point of knowing how to do something and not do it when the opportunity arises?
However, I soon learned that the fading memory of how skilled I was at roller skating, didn't mesh all that well with the reality playing out before my squinting eyes (it was dark in there).
I'll not go into any detail of the interior decor of the roller rink, since it looked identical to every other roller rink I've been to or have ever seen in a movie. Get your skates there, too low benches over there, snack bar in the corner, game area in the back, and of course the great wall of balance and dignity redemption circling the designated skating area.
As my eldest took off onto the rink as if she were born on wheels, and my Wife took our 5-year old in hand to help her get adjusted to life on the circular downslide, I managed to retain a few specks of dignity in my roller boogie endeavors by channeling my goofy foot skateboarding skills - roll on left foot, push off with my right.
Due to the taunting I'd receive every 14.2 seconds (the time it took C to make a lap and swish by her old man) to "use both of your feet to push off," in 15 minutes or so I was able to skate with some semblance of smoothness and even managed a glance or two up at the jumbotron video screen that was blaring down upon us as I navigated the northern end of the semi-circle.
In fact it was during Fergie's rendition of that song she sings about missing somebody like a child misses their blanket, that Wifey and I got our fingers entwined for a soon-to-be-nostalgic trip around the darkened oval.
It was a John Hughes moment to be sure.
Final report, I didn't fall once, nor did S. PK was shaking off our attempts to hold her aloft within 10 minutes or so and was practicing her "hops" by the time we were unlacing our skates and longing for a hot bath.
C refused to leave while any Hannah Montana song was playing, and we were handed a bucketful of discount coupons for future visits, of which, I'm sure the girls will be thankful and our knees will curse us for all eternity.