i have always been fascinated by how people's eyes light up when the subject of skating rinks come up. here is mine: when i was 8 or 9, the 'rock and roll' band, the Archies, were going to be at the rink in mitchell south dakota. but i was too shy to go. that's it! that's the only rink related story i have! (face it, if i was too shy to see one of my favorite cartoon 'bands' 'live', what's the odds that i would somehow jump at the chance to go there for the opportunity to repeatedly fall down in front of my peers?!?!) come on...you have got to have a better story than mine! Al |
| Skating Rink Stories compiled by A. Fish |
| one time when i was in like 9th grade, our church youth group went roller skating in rapid city, i tried my plucky best to rolller skate,but i ended up falling down alot in front of my peers.i think i may have even twisted my ankle.(not everyone's eyes light up when this subject is mentioned.) Molly |
| I so wish I had a good true life skating story. Aside from being kicked out of a game for being too old (at the Yankton skating rink about 8 years ago), I really don't have anything. Jay, however, has 2 good stories. One about a 12 year old skating partner who he spoke Lakota with and used the only phrase he knew "Your horse has diarreah". The other has to do with his mom and some flying food. I suggest you hit him up for these fine gems. Kristin Koch |
| Al, You are the wind beneath my wings! I had forgotten all about my roller rink stories. In fact, I actually have 3! The two you mentioned and another about the time my sister and I accidentally got trapped at a senior citizen skate about 3 years ago. Anyway, since you welled up all these memories for me, I thought the least I could do is recount the earliest of my 3 roller rink stories (1st in a series?????) for your site. Keep in mind this story is true, so you may want to put a disclaimer on it or something. Here it is... According to my mom, she used to take me roller skating about every month when I was between the ages of 6 and 8. Now, of these 30 odd visits paid to our local waxed rink I remember only two. The first is when I pushed my mom while she was skating, made her fall on her ass, and then hid in the boys bathroom to escape her wrath (is it any wonder she loves me?). The second, even more magnificent, incident involves a flying malt cup. At this time in my life, I had become obsessed with chocolate-flavored malt cups - you know the kind: it's like ice cream (but not ice cream) and you eat it with a flat, wooden stick that's like a spoon (but not a spoon). A vendor at a baseball game had told me I should start eating them because it would grow hair on my chest, and as a child desperately wanting such a thing, I heeded his words. By the way, he wasn't lying. I'm now the proud owner of a hair covered chest. Anyway, as was traditional at the tail end of our trip to the roller rink, my mom and I went to the snack bar, she got coffee and I got a malt cup. On this particular day, though, the freezer in which the malt cups were kept must have been set too high for I could not dig into my malt cup with my wooden stick regardless of how much of my youthful might I put into it. My mother, noticing my plight, attempted to assist me in digging out even a chunk of this choclately ice block. She rammed the stick into the center of the cup, then heaved with all her might. And then, my friends, something amazing happened. The block of malt (minus the cup and stick) was catapulted through the air from the force of my mother's scooping. It sailed over all the heads in the snack bar as it flew through the air, and finally landed on a table at the other side of the room. Then, it bounced into a newly opened bag of Fritos. This, alone, would have been enough to make my life complete, but the best was yet to come. The owner of the Fritos, a teenage girl if my memory serves correctly, had been talking to her friends and hadn't noticed that her salty snack now contained a heaping helping of something maltalicious! My mom had started to get up to tell the girl what had happened, but paused for the girl had begun reaching in the bag. My mother and I then looked to one another, both acknowledging that yes, this could be stopped but the greater good would be served if we allowed it to happen. That in fact what was about to transpire MUST happen lest we live with the regret of what could have been. In slow motion, almost, the girl reached into her Fritos. At first, a look of shock crossed her face, then confusion as she pulled out a melting, brown ball from her bag. Not being able to contain our joy any longer, both my mom and I simultaneously began laughing at a high volume. The girl seemed upset at first, but the situation was soon rectified when my mom went over and explained the situation. She bought the girl new Fritos and me a new malt cup, which this time we were much more careful in breaking apart. Jay Fitzloff |