Today’s post is an edited version of another piece of free writing I did in one of Nerissa’s groups. The prompt was probably something to do with Sundays.
The first thing that comes to mind when I think about Sundays is ice skating. I have always ice skated. Some of my earliest memories are of my father taking us skating. We went to Yonkers every Sunday and skated, my father, Fred, Sara, and me. I don’t really know how my father who grew up in poverty in the Bronx learned how to skate but somehow he knew.
Carol Heiss won an Olympic figure skating gold medal in 1960. I had a Heiss brand pair of skates and a book about her that I read all the time. My dreams were of Olympic figure skating but I never took lessons.
When we moved from the East Bronx and the Eastchester housing projects to 3900 Bailey Avenue in the West Bronx, right there on Broadway next to Stella Doro’s, was an ice-skating rink. My friends and I would go every week. I remember watching a stately older couple skating together every time I went.
After Louis, my older son, was born, I wanted him to learn to skate. When he was three or so I started teaching him. When I got pregnant with Alan, I realize it wasn’t safe to continue doing that. Instead I enrolled him in the Skating Club of Amherst which is the club I now skate with.
When Alan got old enough, he learned to play hockey. During those years we went to public skating a lot. Aaron watched on the sidelines. When the children got older, our skating times declined.
About ten years ago, I joined the Skating Club of Amherst (SCA) and stared skating on Sundays. I picked Sunday at 5 for my session because it seemed the most practical and least disruptive to our schedule. Perhaps subconsciously I associated Sundays with skating because of my father.
Now I skate two to three times a week. Although the Olympics are not in my future, I do know how to do some things that I only dreamed of when I was a little girl. My sincere regret is that my father can’t see how I skate.