Friday, March 25, 2011

Good Ole Days

These are those.  You know, the good ole days?  The days you hear people talk about when they are normally referring to high school.  (You all have heard my spill on that before.  Throw your family under the bus, why don't you?  Unless, of course, you married your High School sweetheart, then you are allowed to include high school in your good ole days.  Anyway...) I'm plenty glad to be out of high school... and plenty glad to be enjoying my life with my family. 

And Skate Zone - is ultimately - where my family started.  Sad, isn't it? :)  Back in high school (still not my 'good ole days') a good mutual friend introduced Aaron and I.  Fast forward through some church specials and a Florida mission trip, and Aaron and I were ICQing quite a bit.  (Yep, all of you youth kids have no idea what that even is.)  There was never 'that' kind of connection in the early years of our friendship.  In fact, he moved from friend, to employer, to youth pastor fairly quickly.  So - with 'employer' being mentioned... Aaron and I spent a lot of time at good ole Skate Zone. 

There is SO much I remember from that place:

I remember Aaron and Lance taping me to the pole in the middle of the skating floor.

I remember hanging out with Rachel, and the guys playing washers in the aisle. 

I remember watching hockey, and then attempting to play hockey.

I remember the cherry vanilla fruitopias we sold... *cough cough* stole... before we went swimming at the Morris'.

I remember Carrie B. getting down to 'Wobble wobble, shaky shaky' :)

And stealing Aaron's Chinese food from his office.

I remember Jason Reid jumping the skate counter. 

And late night trips to Steak n Shake after work.

I can remember the way it smelled, the games we played, how my work shirt 'fit', and the combination to the moneybox.  (Duh, that one's easy.)

And trolli burgers / dogs... yeah, Aaron just bought those for us.

I can even hear the 'tap tap tapping' of quarters on the snack bar counter and the squealing of Zeke's boxing glove before it went bouncing across the rink with Zeke scooting after it trying to stop on the floor.  

We had the best dj's ever - Mabel, Radar, Aaron.

Then I can remember Aaron skating with Jayden when he was little bitty, shooting pucks into little bitty goals.  I can remember watching Aaron during sessions trying to teach someone to skate, or, at the beginning, helping me skate.  (What a great excuse to hold his hand ;)

And then we blinked, the rink got yanked from under him (turned out to be a God thing), we were married, and now we have two kids.  (It really just happened that fast!) 

And Tuesday we had the opportunity to take our first born skating, in that same rink, for the first time. 

Now I must say - for me to have not been hormonal at all during or after my pregnancy with Bryton - I've been completely the opposite with Ansley.   The only saving grace has been that I realize how emotional I've been.  That being said, even just walking in the door and smelling the familiar smell, but the feel being so 'different' brought tears to my eyes.  Even the 'creak' of the door felt familiar.  It was a 'good' familiar. 

So walking up to the skate counter, getting Bryton skates, and putting them on my son's feet to go skate with his daddy was kind of a wonderfully bitter sweet moment. 

I'm thankful for the reminder of my and Aaron's 'beginning'.  I'm glad the carpet and the back wall are the same.  I'm thankful, even, for the smell being the same.  I'm thankful for some of the same games played, for some of the same music played, etc. 

But more than anything, I'm thankful for the little boy that got to skate with the same person who was the reason that I loved the rink, and even more thankful that person happens to be his daddy. 

Sure - those were the 'good ole days', because they led me to these days... the days of interrupted sleep, strict budgets, and just the greatest blessings God has ever given.  These are the great days...

For that reason, Skate Zone will always have a special place in my heart. 

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