I discovered the art of hustling at the roller rink. Not that kind of hustling, you pervs. I mean the dance—the Hustle! For those of you who might not know, it was a dance craze back in the day. We would shed our skates right in the middle of the rink and dance until the referees, who were always a bit cranky—unless they were named Gary, because Garys were always chill—told us to skate or leave.
We were all pretty skilled skaters, weren’t we? We’d perform the “Jungle Boogie” and twirl around to “Wildfire.” But I guess you younger folks might have been grooving to Snoop Dogg or the Spice Girls or something. Ours was way cooler.
Skating taught me an essential lesson that resonates well into adulthood: just because something was a blast in your youth doesn’t mean it won’t be a total bore when you grow up. You might think taking your preteen skating would be a fun way to bond. Imagine dazzling your 12-year-old with your moves! You’d finally earn that coveted title of “cool mom.”
But reality hits hard before you even strap on those skates. They smell like a mix of seawater, cheap tortilla chips, and well, let’s just say not-so-fresh body odor. Encasing your feet in what resembles the inside of a meat drawer isn’t nearly as bad as the actual act of skating.
Your hips start to twitch in a manner that says, “Please don’t break me.” The skating floor feels far slipperier than you remember. As a child, you could glide around effortlessly, leaving the rink with rosy cheeks. Now, after a single shaky lap, you find yourself flushed, sweating in all the wrong places.
Not only are you terrified of skate funk embedding itself into your feet, but you also realize that the cool mom persona is slipping away. You end up spending the rest of your skating adventure in a plastic orange booth, munching on stale nachos—sans jalapeños, of course. Tortilla chips lodged in your cleavage soon become the least of your concerns.
Remember the thrill of couples skating? The lights would dim, girls would line up, and boys would skate by, causing heart palpitations as you waited to be chosen. Then, there was Johnny, the rink’s heartthrob, who would hold out his hand. For two glorious songs, you’d glide around, hand in hand, basking in your brief moment of popularity.
As a mom, though, that scenario shifts dramatically. You can’t help but wonder why the girls are lining up to be chosen rather than making a mutual decision. Is this the message we want to send to our daughters? The fear of your child being left alone to languish against the wall gnaws at you. You’re not ready for her to face that kind of rejection! This inner turmoil drives you back to the concession stand for a soft pretzel and a blue slushy.
Then you watch your daughter, confidently skating hand in hand with some boy who likely doesn’t appreciate her as much as he should. You feel her anxiety about rejection mirrored in yourself, but instead of the joy of sweaty hand-holding, you find yourself fighting the urge to grimace as she skates alongside a boy. You question everything from her outfit to the very act of teaching her to walk and talk. For a fleeting moment, you contemplate how not potty training her might have spared you from these awkward situations.
You reminisce about those roller rink evenings that always ended too soon. Now, as an adult, you find yourself ready to leave after just 90 minutes, overwhelmed by the stench of sweat and the incessant noise of catchy pop songs that make you want to flip the place like a rock star.
On the drive home, as your daughter and her friends dive into conversations oblivious to your presence, you feel both amused and horrified by their chatter. You can sense their joy and exhaustion radiating, making the outing feel worthwhile—even if it’s not one you’re eager to repeat anytime soon.
Besides, your daughter is keen to attend a hip-hop concert. What better way to earn the title of “cool mom” than by diving into the world of hip-hop? No awful rental skates in sight! After all, that time you took her to see a manufactured Disney pop star wasn’t half bad. How tough could a hip-hop concert possibly be?
This article was originally published on Aug. 14, 2015.