A legacy that should be shared

It’s better sometimes to get in just under the wire than not at all and I found that out for sure Friday morning.

I ducked out of here for about an hour to spend some time in an ice rink, but not for a story or anything. I took the opportunity finally to accept a standing invitation to a public skate that featured my daughter’s classmates and others from New Minas Elementary School.

It was great to see a couple of busloads of kids pile into Kentville Centennial Arena exuding infectious energy, eyes on fire and totally cranked about hitting the ice.

Truth to tell, I hadn’t been on skates at all this year prior to. Silly, really, because I rediscovered Friday that skating is about the closest thing to flying humans can experience other than perhaps jumping out of a plane, which I haven’t done and won’t unless circumstances absolutely require it.

I learned to skate chasing my Dad around an outdoor rink in Scarborough. I remember a large panther logo on the back of his skates as surely as I recall the bitter cold.

It was nuts sometimes with the wind and snow, but what better way to pick up the craft than with that kind of support? Dad scooped me up and dusted me off when I wiped out, lent a helping hand when I needed it and encouraged me to catch him if I could when we hit the straightaway.

I grew to love the freedom that came with every stride and the sound of a blade cutting deep into ice is something that even now brings back wonderful memories of shinny, competitive contests and just goofing around in a friend’s backyard on the lumpiest slab you’ve ever seen.

I wasn’t sure I’d have the chops Friday. After all, even though they say it’s just like riding a bike, skating requires practice. If you don’t strap on the blades regularly and stay in touch with the ice, it tends to be unpredictable and occasionally unkind.

However, I had plenty of support. My daughter and her friends held hands with me for nearly the entire time, as if to ensure the old dude didn’t tumble and get an ouchy.

Like those rinks of old, music blared from speakers overhead, a group of kids played crack-the-whip while other youngsters hugged orange pylons and wheeled round and round.

Parents and teachers skirted the perimeter and populated centre ice as our allotted time played out, and there was an audible groan from several of my skating partners when the whistle sounded to end the session.

I had thought Thursday night that I’d forego this adventure. Work is always piled a mile high and Fridays are production days.

But you know what? I made the right decision. Friday was the final skate of the season for the schoolkids and it couldn’t have been better. I made some new friends, had the chance to see my girl demonstrate her skills and stepped back in time as well to when hockey rinks held such promise and I was going to make it all the way to the pros.

Like that was going to happen, right? Now it’s just a treat to enjoy some ice time with a group of youngsters and do my best to make it fun. That’s what my Dad did once upon a time, and it’s a legacy I’m only too happy to share.