The Skating Trip

by Daniel Griffin

As a child, I loved to skate—indoor rinks, outdoor rinks, frozen ponds, hockey arenas. Some of my fondest memories are of those rare times I could speed in a straight line across the entire length of a windswept pond. And of course, I loved to retreat to the damp warmth of the skating huts when the day was done—the cheery crackle of a wood stove, the odd time when there was hot chocolate or apple cider on the go.

In these ways it was a classic Canadian childhood. As an adult however, I shrink from temperatures below zero. Victoria’s as mild as you can get without leaving the country, and that accounts for my life here. With my three kids, Sundays at the Oak Bay Rec Centre haven’t been for skating in toques and mitts, but for a soak in the hot tub or the baby pool (which is at least as warm as bath water).

My wife is American and so she doesn’t feel any nationalistic need to ensure her kids can skate, but somewhere deep inside me, despite my dislike of cold and my aching knees, I still do. Last weekend, instead of going to the pool on Sunday, I took the kids to the rink. We rented skates and got everybody bundled up. Our youngest, Vivian, is only three so she stayed in the stroller and just called out for someone to push her fast. Evelyn and Tessa both laced up. Fortunately, Evelyn met a friend and both are old enough that they could cling to the boards or to the stroller’s handles and take care of themselves. Tessa’s just five and so I took her hand and we went out together.

We inched forward while younger kids flew by, blades sharp on the uneven ice. Tessa teetered and fell to her knees. I picked her up but then soon she was down on her bum. Other kids rocketed by. Tessa spun ice-ward. Even a few tentative steps in I could see this was going to be difficult. Her friend Lilly, only a year older, was zipping around with ease while Tessa tripped and her legs went different directions, almost splitting her in two as she fell.

Tessa and I tried various configurations as I both pushed the stroller and tried to help her skate. I held her a while then let her go. I took one hand, then both, then neither. I skated backwards in front of her and forwards behind her. And all through it she was up and down. By half way around the rink, she was in tears. We couldn’t figure it out. I’d learned to skate so young, I couldn’t really remember how I’d learned, but I did tell her that you need to fall to improve. Her older sister Evelyn was sticking to the boards, not taking risks, and I pointed that out. It didn’t help. By the end of our first lap, Tessa was banged and bruised and crying with frustration.

I set her back on her skates while she sobbed. I was frustrated too: my knees were already a little sore, and while I could skate, I didn’t know how to teach my child.

“Let’s go sit you down. You can wait on the bench.”

“No.” She wiped away tears.

I lifted her from the ice. “How about I carry you back?”

“No.”

“A ride in the stroller?”

“No.” She was still crying. She kicked her foot and her skate hit my shin. A kid no more than four sped by fast enough I could feel the wind in his wake.

“Well then, what is it that you want?”

“I want…” She paused between sobs. “To learn to skate.”

“Oh.” A little stillness settled inside me. “Okay.” I set her down and we continued to inch forward. She fell and stood and fell for almost another hour, but somehow we made it around the rink bit by bit, slowly learning to skate together.

Daniel Griffin is a writer and a father of three. He lives in Victoria.