Ever since my childhood years, I’ve been known for my accidental accounts of bandages, bruises, and scrapes in so many circumstances, I can’t even recall all of them. There was the scooter incident where I flew off a ramp and landed in the conveniently placed street, scraping both knees. There was the basketball incident, where the area between my fingernail and my skin separated, leaving a gashing wound for 2 weeks time. I can even remember an incident while looking for a new house to claim pilgrimage; I was playing tag with my brother outside within the backyard of a model house and tripped over a pipe and bashed my knee against the phony artificially-developed rocks. I’m not even safe from real estate!

In all of an instant, I was invited to attend my friend’s birthday party at an underground ice skating arena. How appropriate: Ice Skating. Being a child living life under unofficial house arrest, I’ve never actually had the chance to roller blade, which I’ve heard is remarkably similar to ice skating, my way onto Crystal Palace. Ice skating was just another attempt to watch my downfall… on freezing, chapping ice. With anonymous bystanders laughing, of course.

After retrieving ice skates from the equipment area once entering, I overheard that you had to tie your skates extremely tight, to the point where your foot can’t breath, your circulation is cut off from below your ankle, and your little toes turn a light shade of baby blue. They were indeed correct, because after feasting my skates onto the ice, my ankles wobbled like a vibrating cellphone waiting for someone to answer. MY FEET WERE VIBRATING. I had to celebrate the once-in-a-life-time event by going around the skating arena once. A good 10 minutes zoomed past and I was still amateurishly scooting my way around the plexy-glassed prison after my friends had circled the place countless times. They didn’t laugh; they were encouraging individuals and issued,”Baby steps Austin, baby steps.” Ahhh… I appreciate them

Eventually I got to the entrance of the prison I nudge my way through children who literally danced their way across the frozen battle field with expertise and grace. After falling for my conscious, I tugged at my loose laces as if there was no end. I could feel the circulation cutting off and oddly, I smiled. Soon enough, they were as tight as if a Cub scout had gone off with it and married my skates with his rope typing expertise.

I embarked upon the ice arena once more. I was actually slicing the metal blade of my skates onto the ice in a way that maneuvered me forward! Slowly, but surely, I was an ice mobile machine. It was as if I was a baby walking for the first time, taking, hence my friend’s words, baby steps. Within an urban, desolated, freezing, chapping, underground, filled with child ice skating prodigies… ice arena. How grateful I was.

I’m guessing you’re wondering where the blood, sweat, and tears flows into my first-hand account of this ice wasteland? Do not worry, there were numerous downfalls, supposedly accidental tripping, and the everyday OUCH-my-tail-bone-hit-the-ice-with-bone-crushing-force accounts. You know, I’ve never checked my tail bone, but I’m pretty sure it’s as bruised and blue as my toes are as of now. Just add a couple of blisters and aching, and you’ve got it: my very first ice skating adventure.

Wait till my grandchildren here ’bout this.

Other than the ice skating, we all rambled on about tips and tricks of Halo 2 (who knew there were so many XBOX 360 fans out there), made our way to the outrageous big bundle packages at Costco, gobbled down pizza like there was no end, and awaited a friend of mine to finally pass gas since licorice never correlated well with his digestive system.

It was indeed a good birthday party

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