Blog

I grew up in the 80’s.

Big hair.

Lots of hairspray.

Madonna, Prince, and Michael Jackson.

The Facts of Life. Dallas. The Cosby Show.

And High Rollers – the roller skating rink in Amsterdam, NY, where kids spent most of their weekends in the winter.

It sounds like such a silly thing now, but how all-important and serious it felt back then. To be honest, I don’t recall much of the friends I may or may not have hung out with then. I simply loved the feeling of gliding along while music played and lights flashed. There was a large main rink, like the enormous tank in the middle of the New England Aquarium. We all went around in the same circular motion – not unlike the denizens of that extra-large fish tank. In the corner was a smaller kiddie rink, which had a couple of long benches bordering its sides where less-skilled skaters – and children, of course – could practice with a safety buffer. There was also a dark penalty box in the corner of the large rink, where those who broke the rules (skating the wrong way, aggressively bothering other skaters, and basic misbehavior) would land after one of the workers tapped them out. (It was also a fun and hidden spot for when you needed a break.) I was much too young to know if anything more untoward happened there, but now that I think about it, what else could it be used for?

There were also limbo contests, held periodically on Saturdays, and I was so small and short I could also make it into the final four or five. As contestants dwindled, and the bar got lower and lower, more and more people stepped up to watch the final moments. I hated that. More often than not, I’d lift up at the last moment and intentionally knock the pole down because I couldn’t bear the thought of all those people staring at me and watching. (Looking back, it’s clear that practically my entire life has been one big bout with social anxiety.) It was enough to be in the finals and to know that I probably could have gone lower than that pony-tailed girl who made it look so effortless, and who soaked up the attention of the crowd’s prying eyes better than I would ever be able to do.

Far more enjoyable to me was hearing a good song come on, picking up speed, and feeling the rush of air on my face. I was just starting to hear and learn songs from the radio. Our home didn’t have MTV, or even a VCR (my parents would be the last to succumb to both in the later 80’s – you do the math of the deprived) but we had a radio, and a cassette player, and with those technological advances we could figure out the hit songs of the moment and not look like totally uninformed and shoebox-residing idiots.

One of the bigger songs at the time was ‘Say, Say, Say’ coming at the height of Michael Jackson’s reign. In a joint-effort with Paul McCartney (pop royalty past made present), it was a synthesized and sinewy piece of pop that had a slinky bass line and words that didn’t make much sense to me. I just liked the way it sounded, and the way one could skate along to it in smooth, gliding motions.

I didn’t know many songs – this must have been around 1983 and I was only eight years old – so when a song I knew came on, I made damn sure I was in the rink.

On one Saturday morning, a girl whom everyone said had a crush on me was trying to start a conversation in the snack bar area. I was just taking a break and had no interest in the tater tots or pretzels or whatever else they were doling out, but she cornered me before I could pretend not to see her. She had always been very sweet, and I considered her a friend, so I did my best to keep up the patter of small talk, until I heard a familiar bass. She wanted to stay and talk with me, but Paul and Michael were beckoning me to the skating rink, and I wanted to move with the music. “I love this song!” I exclaimed, interrupting whatever she was saying as the opening beats to ‘Say, Say, Say’ began. It wouldn’t be the last time I passed up a pretty girl for a pop song.

I paused at the entrance to the rink, waiting for a break in the stream of skaters, then made my move, seamlessly entering the clockwise swirl and getting giddily swept up in the motion and the music.