I'd promised, but I really didn't want to go ice skating. It's a rotten business. I last went years ago and nearly died. I'm tall with weak ankles and have trouble keeping my feet on top of what are essentially knives turned sideways. Plus the slip-sliding part and the ice being hard part ... it all sort of makes my tailbone want to hide inside my colon.
But when they opened up the yearly ice rink as they do each holiday season, I was stuck. If you break a promise to a kid you lose respect, and when you lose respect you lose everything. That's my thinking. So if not losing everything meant I had to ride on knives, so be it.
The kids and I started out by clutching the wall, then letting go and slowly getting better, each in our own way. Joey became Brian Boitano on crack. Tanner employed what she called "the bicycle method," and stopped hollering for me every fiften seconds to save her. I scritched, jiggled and flailed, but my tailbone did not go down.
I began to sweat. I took off my jacket and let November raise the hairs on my skin. I hummed along to Christmas tunes. I guess I bounced a little.
Rounding a curve, an arm reached over the wall and grabbed at me. Momentary panic -- I couldn't fall, not now! -- turned and saw a co-worker from one of my 37 different jobs. I once helped her out with some online flyers. "Hey!" We smiled and hugged. I felt a warm kiss on my cheek.
We chatted a little. Then I pardoned myself and went on skating. Because I hate ice skating, you see. Can't stand it.
