If I am sitting outside on the back porch, I get to hear the day come alive with the sounds of the birds, maybe the breeze blowing the tress, but nothing else.
This morning, I was up even earlier than usual. I was rested so I got up. As I started conquering my list of things to do, I was stunned at how many of those things were about my children. "Get haircuts, get BBQ plate tickets sold, fill out permission slip, pay for this, pay for that, fill this out, gather this and take to there" and the list kept growing.
Monday is the end of the semester and the warm up for the second semester of a senior and junior year.
I know my memory is not what it used to be, but I seriously do not remember the stress and the amount of "stuff" for the senior year. It simply didn't exist. And I graduated. We all graduated. It was fine.
Last night, for the first time in months, the four of us were at the dinner table together (shameful I know) and were discussing "senior" year and what our year might be like next year at this same time. Still so many unknowns. As the night progressed, I found myself alone and the house was still and I started thinking and going way back.
On a visit home in September, my brother, along with my sister-in-law, rode in the car together. We were home for our favorite uncle's sudden funeral. We were sad. Heartbroken. Any visit home, under these circumstances will throw you back in the memory bank. Way back.
As we left the private service, we took "the long way home" and passed our Saturday afternoon passion, Rock Springs Roller Rink. As we passed it, my brother and I said simultaneously to nobody and to everyone in the car, "the next skate is for couples only, couples only."
Rock Springs Roller Rink was the reason to go to school Monday thru Friday and my mom's built in baby sitter for three hours on a Saturday. All week long, we either spoke to one another, on the phone, at recess or the lunch table or via notes that were passed to one another that read, "are you going skating this weekend, sat or sun? Check yes or no".
My mom would line up the car pool and we were set. It was 50 cents to get in. That is right. Fifty cents. Then, because we owned our own skates, my mom gave us an extra fifty cents to get a drink and a snack. I would ALWAYS drink a sprite in the red, waxy Coca-Cola cup that would get soft if the drink sat too long and a peppermint patty. This snack was always taken during the boys skate only. Always.
I would always use the bathroom during the boys skate too. You would skate up to the door, that didn't have a spring on it, so it would slam open. There was one toilet in this cement block bathroom that was painted gray. This bathroom on a Saturday was the most humid room ever. Sweat and water. What a combination.
When you were lucky enough to have your own skates, you were somebody. My friend Julie M. said having skates versus not having your own skates is when upper class and lower class started. She might have something there. She saved her babysitting money to buy her skates from another classmate when she outgrew them.
My skates were a Christmas present. They even had red and blue pom-poms on them. To die for. The only accessory I have worn. My cousins got them too. Oh, and a case. A case to preserve our skates from week to week. Mine was red and blue. Metal. Big Metal case that we swung out of the car from week to week with pride as we slid out two quarters under the shield to gain admittance.
If you were a couple, you skated with him during the couples skate. He didn't ask, she wasn't asked, you just went out on the floor, looked at one another and locked hands. After all, this was planned all week long.
The final skate of the day was the couples skate. Twilight Time and Donny Osmond's Puppy love was played. Two songs. Six minutes of the sweatiest palm hand holding ever.
It was to die for. And as this romantic music was playing, all you could really hear in the background was kids sliding their rental skates back across the counter, kids yelling "Hey, your mom is here" and the bathroom door banging open.
The good ole days, the simple times.
The last couple months have been filled with life and adult lessons for my kids. While this is always a good thing to learn and grow, sometimes in this world, it appears the lessons come too quickly and are too severe. Why are we in such a race to have our kids grow up so quickly? Am I the only one who thinks Adulthood is a scam? Once you have entered planet Adulthood, there is no way out. Why are we pushing kids to learn adult lessons as kids?
Face-to-face conversations, tonality, birthday cards, sympathy cards, all seem to have disappeared. My daughter's phone RANG the other day and she said, "HMMM my phone never rings." Think about that for a minute. Her phone never rings.
I myself think I lost a friend over a text message that was misunderstood, but it was in writing and my friend went with the message. (a blog forthcoming on that one for sure)
So many times I feel a sense of "mom shame" simply from social media. My family would never wear matching Christmas pajamas in front of tree and allow me to document it. Never.
And when mom's were posting acceptance letters, when I was begging my son to hit the "submit" button, I felt like I had failed a bit.
If I feel that way as a grown adult, imagine how kids feel?
When did everything become so "big" and yet become so "small"?
When did birthday cards go out of style? A birthday text is nice, yes, but a card grand.
A sympathy card, grander. A phone call, to hear a voice, to hear the delivery, so many times tells you what the conversation is going to be about. Cursive handwriting?
I keep hearing about "above all be kind." When or why did people stop, why would you?
When did the "golden rule" turn into something else?
Why can't roller skating be enough on a Saturday?
Why do college dorm rooms need to be nicer than my first grown up apartment?
One time when I complained about my "shit hole apartment in Morgantown", he said, I think it is a good thing you live in one of those. You will aspire for greatness and never want to be that low again." I was angry but he was correct.
Since the visit back home in September, I have looked at this picture of one of my favorite childhood memories cause I was so proud. I have told my kids about Rock Springs Roller Rink many times in the car when the song "Spirit in the Sky" would come one the radio. They tell me every time this is the "cringiest" thing about me.
When I showed my daughter the picture of the roller rink, she said, "looks like a crack house."
I was so sad that was her impression. When I looked recently, she might have something. The picture didn't dampen my memories. I did think there was some symbolism there.
If we have a world that is aspiring to be kind above all else, then let's have a world that goes back to basics. Conversations, tonality, looking people in the eye when conversing, birthday cards, thank you notes and celebrating the simplest pleasures.
"The Next Skate is for couples only".
