Ice to see you

My parents insist I ice skated when I was three. Since I have no memory whatsoever of it, I hardly think that qualifies me as being good, or even capable of it.
So imagine my surprise when, at an ice skating rink, my son told me he wanted me to go ice skating with him, and, without missing a beat, I said, “Sure!” Immediately after my mouth blurted that out, my brain said, “What are you doing? You don’t know how to ice skate.” My mouth responded, “I am sure I can learn,” which caused several people nearby to move a few steps away.
It all started when my wife enrolled my son in a beginner hockey program. It’s a six-week deal, and he learns the basics of hockey. My neighbor, who plays in an adult league, suggested we get Parker involved, since he, well, likes running over people and hitting things with sticks. “He’s got a hockey mentality,” my neighbor said. I think he meant, “Let’s channel the aggression,” but he could have meant, “He should only be around people in body armor, because he’s going to hurt someone.”
When we arrived at the ice rink, the folks there told us it was time to get Parker dressed. There were boxes and boxes of shin guards, hockey pants, helmets, etc., and we moved down the assembly line turning Parker into a heavily-protected Michelin man. He loved the fact that, when he fell, he just kinda bounced and rolled.
Once Parker was fully suited up, we noticed Allie watching him closely. She looked over and saw a little girl her age putting on her hockey gear, and my wife and I immediately knew what she was thinking: She was thinking she wanted a pony.
But she was also thinking she might want to try hockey. In a flash, she joined her brother, ready to go as the three-foot Granatos. (You see, Tony and Cammi Granato were brother and sister, and they played hockey, and ... oh, nevermind.)
When it was time to hit the ice, the coaches for the clinic helped them onto the rink. They divided the kids into two groups: Those who could skate, and those who couldn’t. It was easy to tell which group was which: One group was skating, and the other group was on the floor looking like a bunch of awkward turtles.
To teach the kids how to skate, they start with plastic chairs. The kids put their hands on the seat of the chair for stability and move along, using it kind of like a walker. After a few tries, Allie got the hang of it and was moving at a pretty good clip. Parker? Not so much. He really had no desire to go anywhere. He was perfectly content. My wife and I watched across the ice as several coaches tried to convince him to skate. At one point, they got him grabbing the chair and we saw him gliding across the ice. We then noticed his legs weren’t moving. He was basically getting an escort around the ring. Another coach carried him for a lap, at which point he had decided he had had enough.
He came off the ice and told us he didn’t want to skate anymore. I sat him down, gave him a hug, and said, “Quitters don’t get lunch.”
Ha! Kidding. My wife and I both tried to encourage him to get back on the ice, to no avail. As the clinic began to come to a close, Parker had an apparent change of heart, at which point he said I would be his on-ice guide.
My kids are still at the age where they think Daddy can do anything. Daddy can make it stop raining. Daddy can bring a squished ladybug back to life. Daddy can reattach Elmo’s severed head. It’s amazing what good timing, a little sleight of hand and a lot of distraction can do for your credibility. But I figured there was no way to fake my way through this one. I told my wife what the plan was, and that I would need a few minutes to, well, learn how to ice skate.
As I was lacing up my skates, the woman at the rink asked me if I was a good skater. “I don’t remember ever having skated before,” I responded. She chuckled, which did not bode well for me. “Just remember to march,” she said. I nodded, although I still have no idea what she meant.
When I got to the ice, I saw all of these little kids zooming about. I am sure they would have loved to see a grown-up sprawled on the ice, flopping around like an octopus as I tried to avoid a concussion. I set one skate on the ice, and then the second. I stood for a moment, took a deep breath and ... wanna guess what happened next?
I skated. Just glided across the ice. Fortunately, I have roller bladed for years, and that skill apparently translates quite easily. I took a few quick laps and got Parker on the ice, who was now just thrilled about going skating. (Allie opted to go eat some lunch, saying the hockey clothes were “smelly.”)
Our first couple of laps were done with me standing behind Parker, holding his hands while he skated. When it became evident that continued skating while hunched over and holding a 3-year-old would most likely send me to traction, I opted for the chair approach. Parker held on, moving his little legs as best he could, sometimes going four or five steps before faltering. After about an hour, he had shown a lot of improvement, and within a couple of clinics, I bet he will be skating on his own.
I’m glad he got back on the ice, and he has shown excitement about going back and trying again. When the kids take on any activity, I only have two requirements: Try your hardest, and have fun. If you do that, you’ll do fine. And you’ll get lunch.