SOL #1 3/1/18
I took my kids to their first big kid skating party today. As they spun around the room, giggling with their friends, running up to the DJ to make requests, I was taken back.
I loved skating parties. Our started in 5th grade and I remember traveling in a pack with my girlfriends, orbiting clusters of boys. I had a boyfriend, a boy I barely spoke to. Somehow we decided that "our" song would be the hit of the day, "Push It" by Salt-n-Pepa. You can imagine my mother's delight when I told her that little tidbit. That song was the catalyst for our birds and the bees conversation. I thought it was about exercise. When my mom explained the real meaning, I never looked at the song the same.
In sixth grade, I remember the emergence of couple skating. Ah! The horror! The thrill! Some kids took to it with such ease. They didn't seem to be freaking out at the notion of actually touching another person, let alone somebody they like-liked. I remember hoping, hoping, hoping to be asked to couple skate. And then when I was, freezing.
Mostly, I loved gliding across the floor, moving from space to space with my friends. We'd lace up those rented brown skates (the same ones my kids tried on today, I'm almost certain) move through the fog of funk that is unique to middle schoolers. We'd practice skating backwards, or crossing our legs to the beat of the music, certain that we were the coolest. By the end of the party we'd float out into the cold winter air, back to school the next day where we were never as cool as when we were sliding across that wooden floor.