Well it’s official. It’s not the eighties anymore.
I learned this today on my son’s fourth grade class trip to United Skates.
I, of course, arrived in my spandex leggings and neon pink zip up ready to Rock and Roll All Night, but it’s like none of these children ever spent a Friday night at the local rink circling the track and darting through crisscrossing strobes lights to Let’s Get Crazy by Prince.
10 year old arms and legs flailed all over the place, spinning by like baby giraffes on ice. The kids scrambled around like eggs, then lay on the rink floor beaten. It was hand to your mouth horrifying, in that ‘you can’t believe what you are seeing’ way and I could not. stop. laughing.
I probably won’t be brought back for a class trip any time soon, but all those children flopping every which way, doing unintentional splits, desperately trying to stay upright like cartoon characters on banana peels… It was just too much and too many of them. It was like someone put a slick of oil on a walkway and told 50 kids that there was free ice cream right across the way. Down Down Down they all went. It was total, utter chaos. It was hysterical.
None of the 20 something workers seemed concerned. They just zoomed here and there picking up all the rattled little bodies and sending them happily off to fall again two seconds later.
But the absolute best were these new safety devices they give the kids who can’t skate (Um, pretty much all of them). They are literally walkers on wheels! Seriously, you can’t not be amused by this.
Even though 2015 skating was different than when I was a kid, I was totally in the spirit and considered putting my hair in a side pony tail. I grabbed my son’s hand for a mock ‘couples skate’ moment and he allowed me the pleasure for 3 seconds before pretending I didn’t exist. I threw around the words Super and Awesome a lot, and even once found myself putting them together while dancing around, picking up felled children as I grooved.
“Wow, you’re doing super awesome out there, kid!” I said and gave a wink as he hobbled by with his walker. It was the same kid who once asked me why my house was such a mess, not that I remember things like that.
It was time to go, and from the mouths of the beaten and black and blue (but no broken boned) babes, it was unanimously and without question the best day of fourth grade.
It certainly was for me.