THE ROCKWOOD FILES The great skate

Published 10:41 pm Friday, October 16, 2026

I think the roller rink helped raise me. I got my first pair of skates around age 8 or 9, and I spent Friday nights at a rink for much of my adolescence in the 1980s. Even after my hometown roller rink closed, my dad drove more than an hour to take my older brother and me to the nearest rink. Some of the most important lessons I’ve ever learned happened in a roller rink.

Lesson 1: Awkward is inevitable.

Have you ever watched someone learn how to skate? It’s like seeing a baby giraffe try to get up on new wobbly legs. Newbie skaters wobble, bobble, cling to the wall for safety, and stick their arms straight out like a shaky airplane as they desperately try to stay above the ground.

In the beginning, they’re not really skating. It looks more like they’re walking in unstable shoes — barely shuffling along and wondering how something that looks so easy can be so hard. It can take hours, weeks, or even a couple of months before a new skater starts to glide, turn corners, and coast to an easy stop.

Even after I’d been skating for years and could do it backward, sideways, and without thinking, I’d see someone trying it for the first time and remember exactly how it felt — to be so bad at something and yet keep struggling forward. That’s how all skaters feel in the beginning. We fall, and fall, and fall, until one day we don’t.

We needed those falls to learn. They were worth it because, in time, we were racing around that floor so fast we could feel wind in our hair while Prince sang “1999” on the rink’s loudspeakers. It was 1980s bliss.

Author Jon Acuff once wrote, “Be brave enough to suck at something new.” Every time I think of that line, I picture a kid on roller skates. No matter the setting or circumstances, being awkward is inevitable. Awkward is brave. Awkward is the price of admission for better things.

Lesson 2: Help people when they fall.

​I always felt safe at the rink because my dad didn’t just drop us off and pick us up later. He stayed. Even though he’d worked all day as a professional tree trimmer and landscaper and was probably tired and sore, he was a work-hard-play-hard kind of guy. He loved skating as much as we did. (Or maybe we loved skating because of how much he did?) Either way, when we were skating, it was purely for the love of it. No contests. No awards. Just fun.

I always knew I wouldn’t be bullied or cornered by a mean kid at the rink because Dad would suddenly roll up next to me just when I needed him. One time when I collided with another skater, had a bad fall, and hit my head, Dad scooped me off the floor and skated me to a nearby bench to recover.

Chaperoning skate nights was also Dad’s gift to Mom. She treasured Friday nights when she had some time to herself in a quiet house. She’d watch “Dallas” on TV while eating microwave popcorn and folding laundry in peace. And she knew we’d come home safe because Dad would make sure of it. At the roller rink and in any other part of life, we help people when they fall.

Lesson 3: Simple can be great.

The roller rink also showed me that fun doesn’t have to be complicated. We paid about three dollars each to get in the door, and we spent the next five hours skating around the same circle — hundreds of times per night. Then we’d go back the next Friday and do it again.

It didn’t matter that the scenery didn’t change as we skated that loop. Because the roller rink DJ played the best songs, we’d weave in and out of the throngs of other skaters circling a huge disco ball at the center of the rink.

When we needed to rest, we’d skate to the concession stand for a slice of pizza or nachos drizzled with goopy cheese. And when the skating rink closed for the night, Dad drove us to a nearby Shoney’s restaurant because it was the only thing open that late. He and my brother would have breakfast at midnight, and I’d order a slice of strawberry pie and a glass of chocolate milk. All these years later, I still can’t think of a better time than skating followed by strawberry pie.

Our ability to enjoy life grows exponentially when we learn that simple things can be great.

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Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.