The year was 1980 and I was in second grade. The Winter Olympics were on and I was enthralled with figure skating. I remember my mom letting me stay up late to watch all I could. The skaters were so beautiful and talented and I was sure that I could do it if only I had the chance. I didn't have access to an ice rink, but I did have a linoleum kitchen floor and a pair of socks. I could make myself spin, do figure eights, twirls, and jumps. In my mind, the crowd went wild as I finished with a triple axel.
Isn't the imagination of a child a wonderous thing? Yesterday, I watched my daughter in her own skating dream. The van was pulled out of the garage and the bikes were all pushed to the side. The dirty cement floor became glossy hardwood and her father's size 10 roller skates became her magical slippers. They were stuffed with extra gloves she had found and she used hockey sticks to steady herself at first, but they gave her the power of transportation. She played music on her iPod and twirled around the floor for an hour. I'm sure the crowd was cheering as tricks were played out in her mind.