January 7, 2007

One thing I have learned through working at the rink is what not to do when I become a parent. I see all kinds, the bullies, the wimps, the totally immature--and I'm not talking about the kids. The pudgy man in the polo applauding his round ball of a son for merely sitting down on a chair, the mother who coddles her six year old son so much that he cries when she leaves his sight--these indelible marks will remain with these children for many, many years of therapy.
I skated this shift with one of the new employees who, at 26, is a mother to three children. And while I can easily see myself married by that age and while my own mother had two children at 26, I can think of nothing more horrifying than toddlers, finger paints and diaper genies in six years. Right now all I want in six years is a loft, a great pair of boots and an old bottle of wine. And all this from a pair of skates. Who knew?