When I was in elementary school, I used to beg my mom to arrange plans so that I wouldn't have to go to people's birthday parties if they were at the Skateplex. I had an aversion to the venue. Probably because it smelled funny, the skates were nast, I was scared of the races and the guy/girl skates and playing Wipeout, and the other skaters were unpredictable. I am proud to announce that I have since overcome the aversion, and were anyone to have a birthday party at a skating rink I'd probably be able to go.
Why this insight into my skating history? Because this evening I went to a roller rink. A roller rink named Sparkles. It only had the old school four wheels. And I balled. I only fell once, and I successfully weaved in and out of millions upon millions of waist-high black children. Except once, when a flock of young boys assumed the Flying V and headed straight for me (on a turn, no less) and I ended up running into one of them, grabbing his arm, swaying, steadying myself, and managing to keep both of us on our feet. Then I gave him a thumbs up. Somebody call Lil' Bow Wow.
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