There are few pastimes which span three generations. Dancing would be one. However, the style of dancing in my generation, and that of our children and grandchildren makes calling it a shared pastime a bit of a stretch. Bing and I, for instance, loved to dance (okay, I loved to dance, he tolerated it, although he was really good). However, my dance moves were recently compared to those of someone named Elaine from the television show Seinfeld, a show I’ve never watched, nor ever intend to. The offspring who said I danced like Elaine obligingly put up a video of said Elaine dancing. There was no resemblance to me whatsoever. As a matter of fact, there was no resemblance to any human being on this planet.
Since I am nothing if not a good sport, I resisted writing Meg out of my will, or her siblings Heather, Erin, Amy and Wade who quickly chimed in, agreeing with her and adding their own insults. I resisted comparing their dance moves to hysterical jumping beans trodding on red-hot coals. I didn’t think that would be dignified, since I am “of an age,” as my grandmother would say. Being dignified, however, is vastly overrated and I’m happy to be as undignified as I please when it suits me.
There is another pastime which has lasted for three generations: circling endlessly on roller skates at a rink to less-than-sterling music whilst disco lights wave frantically over the floor, walls and ceiling. I know this is still a pastime because daughter Amy took her children, Dylan (10) and Molly (8) to a rink near their home in a Los Angeles suburb last week. When I say “near their home,” you must understand “near” in Los Angeles and “near” in Algona are not the same. Not nearly the same. As in, polar opposites. Son Wade and his wife, Jackie, live “near” Amy and husband Dave. So they say. Try 45 minutes to one hour on an 8-lane freeway – that’s “near” to them. “Near” in Algona is the five-minute drive from home to . . . well . . . almost anywhere.
But I digress. Amy posted some videos of their skating foray on our family thread. The music and swirling lights haven’t changed. As far as I could see, nothing has changed from when I skated as a kid at the Jollytime rink here and when our children also skated at the Jollytime rink here. Their memories include Mr. Weaver making announcements over the P.A. system and a jar of pickles which always (they say) sat on the counter. I have no recollection of a jar of pickles but since all five offspring agree, it must be so.
I remember going to Arleen Ludwig’s birthday party at the rink, and decades later, hosting a couple of birthday parties for our kids there. It was so easy – much easier than having a party at home. As you probably know from other columns I’ve written, I’m not a great party-giver. As in, although our five children all graduated from high school, Bing and I hosted zero graduation parties. Zero.
Bribery is a wonderful parental incentive.