One, Two, Three Glide

Have you ever wondered how after not doing something for years and years you’re able to do it again easily? Like riding a bike. Or in my case, skating. Ice skating to be specific.

Two of my grandchildren wanted to try skating during their vacation. Neither had ever been before and I hadn’t skated in more years than I want to admit, but it sounded like a fun idea.

Growing up I lived near a place called Sailor’s Home Pond. In the winter when the pond froze over all the neighborhood kids skated after school. One year someone’s dad put up floodlights so we were able to skate after dark.

My memory of the pond is that it was big enough for the boys to play pick-up hockey games at one end while the girls practiced figure skating in the middle. And we made whips—a string of kids skating in a circular motion as fast as possible until everyone fell down. I remember this all happening at the same time.

But memories don’t always match reality.

Some years ago I took a nostalgia trip back to that neighborhood and I must confess my "big" pond was downright tiny. I blamed the inaccuracy of my memory on adult eyes. Kids always "see things" on a grander scale. Thankfully one memory hadn’t changed. The lacing tree was still there—a huge gnarly tree with exposed roots. If you had a boyfriend and sat on the roots, he laced your skates. (I’m not tampering with that sweet memory. No way, no how.)

So when the skating opportunity with the little ones happened I boldly rented a pair of skates and took to the ice. Gingerly. Slightly afraid I might fall and break something, my first few glides were tentative, but to my surprise it came right back. I wasn’t as sure-footed as the days of my youth, but after a few laps around the rink my muscle memory kicked in and I was even skating backwards. (That impressed the kids—and me.)

My granddaughter got the hang of it pretty quick and before long she was skating without holding on to the railing—grinning ear to ear. My grandson, a bit younger, had trouble getting the one, two, three glide technique down pat and did a lot of falling. But what a trooper. He never whined or fussed, just kept getting up and trying again determined to skate.

I can’t help thinking how closely skating correlates to life. New things come along and I want to try them. I start off stumbling, even falling on my butt at times. Over the years I’ve picked myself up and brushed myself off more times than I can count. My grandson would say more than "infinity, Google-plus." I’m not sure about his calculation, but I do know that for the most part, no matter how many times I trip and fall, I keep trying, hoping to learn how to glide, often surprising myself by what I accomplish.

I hate the falling down part of life, but the thrill of success is intoxicating!

We skated again a week later. My grandson continued to fall, but then something clicked and he found his center of gravity, his balance—he figured out how to glide. Suddenly, he was skating by himself on those thin metal blades, circling the rink again and again, laughing and whooping and high-fiving anyone within reach. Buzzed by his achievement he kept shouting, "Aren’t you proud of me?"

Yes, I was and am proud of him because he never quit.

Obviously my memory of skating at the pond is less than realistic, but I have no doubt that the image of those kids skating alone for the first time will be an unforgettable memory for me. 

Sweeter than my memory of the lacing tree? Hmmm…