Roller Skating Performance

I read sometimes about mothers whose children are trained to pass the time sedately when they're confined to the indoors. I did not do well at this kind of training.

Probably the fact that we had no smooth expanse of concrete longer than about twelve feet anywhere within a three-mile radius of our home influenced me to allow in our house what must be the most unlikely living room activity imaginable: roller skating.

It all began quite innocently. When skates first came into the house, the boys didn't really know how to use them, so I let them practice while they learned to keep their balance. As they got better, and their glides got longer, they rolled right through the living room, into the dining room, across the slight drop-off into the kitchen and headed for the far wall of the kitchen, stopping themselves with their hands against the kitchen wall. An awkward turn-around, and the route was retraced, all the way to the front door which opened into the living room. Eventually, they all got to be very good at skating, and the oak floor, although not intentionally abused, probably earned the right to appear in an advertisement for the durability of hardwood floors. The boys gleefully raced back and forth, chattering and laughing as they did so.

With enough exertion, and with the trusty wood stove at its normal winter setting, they'd sometimes get uncomfortably warm and begin to shed layers of clothing.

One December evening Hiromi and I were reading quietly in the living room and the boys were skating noisily--in their underwear, I noticed distractedly, but with no major concern. It was nearing bedtime. We had no close neighbors, we had a long driveway, and the curtains were pulled shut.

But someone noticed a bit of commotion outside, and Shane went to the window to look out. As he pulled aside the curtain to peek, the curtain--rod and all--chose that moment to fall off the bracket that held it in place at the window. With the curtain at his feet, Shane stood exposed in front of the window. At that instant, he recognized the source of the commotion. "Carollers!" he shrieked as he skated toward the bedroom as fast as he could manage with all the necessary twists and turns. The boys all panicked and practically fell over each other trying to disappear quickly.

We invited the carollers inside, and the boys soon reappeared, properly clad in the plaid bathrobes I had made for my brothers when they were the size my boys were that year.

The carolling young people sang energetically, and if it hadn't been for the smiles playing around the edges of some of their faces, I might have been able to convince myself that no one had noticed our lack of preparation for their visit.