Thursday, May 21, 2009
Mom, I want leathers.
With cereal poured, juice in glass, and my coffee nearly cold, breakfast
was well on its way. My daughter looked up from her bowl of Koala Krisp
and announced, "Mom, I want some leathers."
I nearly choked. This request unto itself would not be so surprising if it were coming from my motorcycle riding father, who has retired into a weekend warrior. But this request was uttered by my eight year old daughter after a weekend of watching her older brother, Wolf, scream down a race track on his longboard at a 60km/hr or more. The implications in those for words are undeniable. My daughter wants to longboard, just like her brother.
Without missing a beat, Finn, my five year old, piped in, "Yeah, and I want a helmet and knee pads and elbow protectors (he did actually say protectors), and special glubs (meaning slide-gloves, if you aren't familiar with five-year-oldese)." Then he proceeded to finish off his cereal and yogurt.
This would have all been different if Wolf had stayed in ballet all these years. Perhaps Coco would have been asking about point shoes, hair nets, tights and the next round of dance examinations. I was a ballet mother for three and half years with my son. He was good, and then a growth spurt caused pain in his knees, so he took a hiatus and discovered longboarding. He's hooked.
And so, last night, we went for a walk, or I should say, a cruise around the neighbourhood. My husband, Graham practicing foot-braking under Wolf's instruction, Coco and Finn pushing along side. I planted one foot in front of another on terra firma. I have never skateboarded, not even an old banana board from when I was a teen. I am a walker. Okay, perhaps I'm a little chicken too. Even Graham and Coco looked so at ease carving down the road in front of our house on the longboard Wolf built at school for his sister. "It's a nice ride," Graham said as he glided to a stop. "Maybe Wolf can help set me up; that was fun."
That's how our evening ended, and our saga continues. I wasn't cut out as a dance mama, but perhaps I can wear the label of longboarding mother a little easier. For now, I am mama behind the hay bales.