|
you haven't seen funny, until you've seen me try to skate.
2002-10-22-8:50 a.m.
Let's see: I've been more and more active lately. It's funny how you spend so long wanting something, thinking that something will make you happy, but when you get it, it doesn't quite do it for you. This would call to mind the important precept of buddhism: Happiness comes from internal things, not external things. But there's only so much you can appreciate the same old things, the same old job, the same old people etc... So I'm continually trying to take on new things, to learn new things, to attempt the things which I am the worst at, in order to become as well rounded as I can. Paige asked me to tell her a story the other day, but with all the stress and pressures of work I really didn't have the time to talk, much less the clarity and focus to invent a story. But today after addressing a lot of my concerns and eliminating a few more, I felt like relating one, and this one is true. I learned to roller skate this weekend. You'd think, at 24, I would have learned by now, but the only skating rink in my hometown area was disgusting, and no one there ever skated anyway, we just socialized in the one part of town where you wouldn't be harrassed for doign so. It was in Algoa, which is in the poor part of town. And that's saying something, because the good part of the town was half trailers and neglected homes anyway. It had a gravel parking lot full of potholes, rotten wood on the outside, uneven and ancient planks on the skating floor (which was walled in on all but one side) leaks in the ceiling, stains on the carpet, almost half the chairs were broken, and bad lighting. The wooden picnic tables they had inside were covered on every square inch by grafitti and engravings with keys and pocket knives. The bathroom smelled so bad you'd have to hold your breath to use it, and using the sink would only make your hands dirtier. The only redeeming quality about this ancient place was it's video games. They were ancient too, but that meant that ther were good. Pole Position, Pac Man, Galaga. They still required your imagination to do most of the work, but that was okay, because at that age I had imagination in spades. There guy behind the uneven and stained counter who handed out skates was the only employee of the place you'd ever interact with, (other than the distant and rude manager in the brown shag carpeted dj booth that also served as the ticket counter.) You'd tentatively walk up to the counter, hoping he'd just give you your worn out tan colored skates with mismatched laces in whatever size you needed, because you didn't want to talk to the guy. He was big, old, tattooed and bald, like a more wrinkled and less ugly version of that guy they kept locked up in the basement in The Goonies. He had no teeth worth mentioning, and he couldn't speak well enough for you to understand. Which was just as well, because he couldn't hear a damn thing unless you yelled it. So we'd just smile, and say "yeah" and laugh, hoping what he said was a joke or something that required a yes or no answer, then turn around and go back to our friends at the picnic table riddled with obscene words and drawings. It was the only time our small class of 12 catholic school kids ever got to socialize with other kids. The only time I ever went was when it was someones birthday party, so the other boys in my class would just play games, cause what trouble we could, talk about blowing things up and shooting things and new toys and all that jazz. We never talked about girls, never cared, and were only nice to them so we could get invited to their birthday parties and get them to help us if we forgot our homework. They had no hold on us back then. So the place was dirty, it was smelly, it was unsafe, but it was the only thing we knew. I didn't know there were big skating rinks with new games and concession stands and friendly employees and bathrooms that didn't make you gag uncontrollably. I didn't know that life could be any better, and I sometimes still wonder if it could. That's the reason why I rile against growing up so much. If it doesn't make me happy, why go through all the work? I mean honestly, when is the last time you saw someone your age skip? Or bust out in laughter and shoot milk out of their nose? Stop and look around and ask yourself if you are where you wanted to be when you were a kid? Could you face yourself as a child and still hold your chin up? Could you explain to him or her why you haven't followed through with your dreams? I really think I could. I always have that hypothetical situation in the back of my mind when I make an important decision. I can honestly say I've worked hard, and even if I haven't gotten as far as I like, I know I've tried as hard as I can. Speaking of trying, I need to get off my ass and get to work.
Prev - Next
|