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  • Writer's pictureAmi Thompson

Twirl

“Watch out! Here I come!”


These are phrases I often used in my tenth year. No, I wasn’t coming to save the day, I wasn’t chasing people in a rowdy game of tag, and I wasn’t playing Red Rover. I never liked Red Rover and the strategy involved. How do you choose where to run? Do you go for the weak link, your friends, or your crush? Keep in mind these choices are floating about a ten year old brain. Truth be told, I went for the weak link, as I wanted to win. But now I am very off topic. Back to, “Watch out. Here I come.”


Guesses? I’d love to hear them. I am talking about the absolute best past time of yesteryear—Rollerskating! I would skate from sun up to sun down. I’d even skate in the kitchen if it were raining out. I taught myself how to skate backwards and how to twirl. Twirling was the best. Even saying it is fun. Twirling. I know you’re saying it now, fun huh?


I was a choreographer before I even knew the word. I created a skating routine to the song Working 9-5. I would skate on stage (fortunately, my family had a big kitchen) and head for the kitchen table. I would sit and type on my imaginary typewriter. I would then skate around, going both forward and backward. Then I would twirl with all my might. Looking back, I’m not sure why I never got dizzy. Maybe my blonde head was just used to it.


Let’s talk about the skates. I had my mother’s metal skates that attached over your sneaker. Although practical and highly mobile, the skate quality was not high. It wasn’t a smooth ride. I graduated to the traditional style like an ice skate. These had better support and a cleaner ride, but were clunky to carry. Even with that said, this style was my favorite. I can still envision the worn out red wheels.


I was ten. I’m taking a lesson my from ten year old self: Twirl. Twirl with reckless abandon. Twirl ’til you can twirl no more. Do something so fun and silly that your inner ten year old would give you a high five.


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