Roll, Skate, Bounce and Bounce and Bounce
I read the email twice. My oldest was invited to a rollerskating event. My heart raced. As the hour approached, I licked my lips with anticipation. I think I was more excited than she was. She's not a teenager yet, still un-sure of her rollability. But me, I knew about mine. She didn't understand why I was going crazy looking through the closets for my skates. I found them and she screwed up her face. At the everything must be pink age, black skates were disgusting. I broke it down for her. The skates that I'd artfully slung over my shoulder where not just black skates. They were custom-built-for-my-feet-all-leather-Reidel-with-all-American-dream -wheels,jump-bars-and-dance-plug skates. "You don't understand," I told her. "Mommy was baaaaad! Not just bad, Poetry in motion." "What's that mean?" she asked. I sighed and shook my head. How to explain to a single digit child that I wasn't talking about back when I was a kid? ...