I picked up my hustle at the roller rink, but not the shady kind. I’m talking about the dance called the Hustle. For those unfamiliar, it was our version of a dance-off; we’d kick off our skates right in the middle of the floor and groove until the referees—who were usually a bunch of grumps—forced us to either skate or leave. The refs were always annoying, except for those named Mark; they were the exception.
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We were all pretty slick on our skates, right? We could bust out the “Jungle Boogie” and twirl around to “Wildfire.” That was our soundtrack—though I imagine younger folks might be tearing it up to Snoop Dogg or the Spice Girls. Our jams were superior.
But skating taught me a critical lesson as an adult: just because something was a blast as a kid doesn’t mean it translates well into adulthood. You might think taking your pre-teen skating will be a great bonding experience. Just wait until she and her friends witness your incredible moves. You’ll finally earn that coveted “cool mom” title, right?
Reality hits hard before you even lace up. Those rental skates smell like a mix of stale chips and something less pleasant. While it’s not the worst thing to wrap your feet in what resembles the contents of a meat drawer, the actual skating is a different story. Your body starts twitching—not in an appealing way, but more of a desperate “please don’t let me fall” manner. The rink floors are way slicker than you recall. As a kid, you’d circle the rink for hours, cheeks flushed with excitement. Now, after one shaky lap, you’re sweating profusely and turning as red as a beet.
Worries about skate funk permeating your feet flood your mind, and that cool mom fantasy? Yeah, it’s evaporating fast. You end up seated in an orange plastic booth munching on stale nachos—sans jalapeños, of course. Tortilla chips stuck in your cleavage quickly become the least of your concerns.
Remember how thrilling the couples skate was? The lights would dim, girls would line up along one wall, and boys would glide by, leaving you with the anxious hope of being chosen. When Johnny—the rink’s most popular guy—stopped in front of you, you’d lock hands and skate together, sharing the sweet thrill of momentary popularity.
As a mom, that scene takes on a different tone. You start questioning why girls line up and wait to be picked. Shouldn’t it be more of a mutual decision? What lessons are we instilling in our daughters? You’re gripped with the same fear that your daughter might be left alone against the wall, and that’s not something you’re ready for. This inner conflict sends you back to the snack bar for a soft pretzel and a blue slushy.
Then you spot your daughter joyfully skating with some boy who likely doesn’t appreciate her fully. You realize you’ve endured the same fears of rejection alongside her, but without the joy of hand-holding. Instead, you’re left staring at the scene, trying to mask your horror as she skates with him. You question everything—from the length of her shorts to whether teaching her to walk and talk was a good idea. You even contemplate how skipping potty training might have sidestepped these hormone-fueled dilemmas.
You reminisce about your skating nights ending too soon, but as an adult, you’re ready to leave after just 90 minutes. The smell of sweat and blaring Top 40 hits makes you want to destroy the place like Johnny Depp trashing a hotel room.
On the drive home, while your daughter and her friends chatter away, blissfully unaware of your presence, you find yourself both amused and horrified by their conversations. You can feel the joy radiating off them and count the night as a win—even if you’re not eager to repeat the experience anytime soon.
At least your daughter has expressed interest in attending a hip-hop concert next. Now that’s a chance to be the cool mom without dealing with the gross rental skates! Besides, that one time you took her to see a manufactured Disney pop star wasn’t that bad. How tough could a hip-hop concert really be?
Summary
The nostalgia of roller skating brings both joy and dread as a parent. What was once a thrilling experience transforms into a source of anxiety and self-reflection when witnessing your child navigate the same social dynamics you once did. While the experience may not be one you wish to repeat soon, the idea of connecting through other activities, like hip-hop concerts, offers a path to reclaiming that “cool mom” status.