Roller Skates: Part of I Once Was

Roller Skates

It was my 8th birthday, and I had finally gotten those roller skates that I had wanted so badly.  They were white and they had pink shoelaces.   I screamed with joy when I opened them.                                                  
“Now,” my mom said, “There are a few rules for the roller skates.”              
“First, long pants,” she said
I understood, fewer scratches.                                                                          
“You must wear your dad’s long socks as well. Then the top of the skates won’t rub your legs.”                                                                                                      
I shook my head.  Whatever, you say, I thought.                                            
“Also, you have to wear the knee pads and elbow pads and long sleeves whenever you skate.”  She held up each item as she listed them.                  
“Where can I skate?” I asked, anxiously.                                                          
“On the porch until you learn how to stop and start.” she answered. “Then we’ll see.”  She let out a heavy sigh.                                                                          
Our porch was cement, 15 feet long and 6 feet wide, but it was a beginning.
“One last thing,” she said.                                                                              
“What?” I asked.  What else could she possibly add to this?                          
“Pop has a helmet for you over at his house.  You have to wear the helmet; no if, ands, or buts,” she said.                                                                                      
“Can we go and get it now?” I asked.                                                              
“Ok,” she answered, with a smile.                                                                          
So we walked across the street and down the dirt road to my grandparent’s house.                                                                                                              When we got there, my dreams of becoming a professional roller skater were shattered.                                                                                                              “See how this fits,” my grandfather said, putting the helmet on my head.      
“This isn’t a skating helmet,” I said disappointed.  The delight in my eyes, dimmed.                                                                                                               He pushed the helmet onto my head, and pushed the plastic visor up.          
“No,” my mom said.  “It’s one of Pop’s snowmobile helmets.  It’s safer than a skating helmet,” She said.                                                                                    
“I can’t wear this!” I yelled through the mask covering my lips.                      
“You will wear this or you won’t be skating at all,” she said.                          
So, I wore the helmet, and the socks, and the kneepads, and the long pants.  Every time I skated my head would wobble and my body would sweat.        
“Safety first,” she said.