Lady Gaga, Roller Skates, and Rediscovering the Meaning of Life
The First Visit (March 8, 2023)
From the outside, the Xtreme Wheels Roller Skating Center in Crystal Lake, Illinois, is nondescript and unappealing. The narrow single-story building appears more commercial than recreational. A wooden fence along the property’s western edge, shared with an apartment complex, is disconnected in spots, with entire sections attempting to slowly return to the earth at unintended angles.
As I steered the family minivan into the lot, searching for an open spot while trying to avoid the manhole-sized pothole at the end of one lane, my two young daughters couldn’t care less about the facility’s curb appeal.
All the roller skating rinks I have visited throughout my life have shared similar attributes. When driving by the place in late winter in Chicagoland—or any time of the year—you wouldn’t think there could be any entertainment waiting inside.
Tonight was Family Skate Night, an event put on by the PTO of their elementary school. Many of their friends had informed them that they would be attending. They spotted familiar faces arriving and walking toward the entrance. The excitement for the girls, including my wife, was palpable inside our Chrysler Pacifica. As for me, I braced myself for the next few hours of parental purgatory.
I found a spot facing the apartment building. The leaning fence gave us a clear view of the residents’ vehicles on the adjacent property. I parked and marshaled us across the lot, and we took our spot at the back of the line just outside the front doors.
“Are you skating?” my wife asked me.
“Hell yeah,” I responded immediately. I figured the event would be easier to endure if I at least participated in it a bit. My girls were not the most experienced skaters; I thought they would welcome some assistance.
We recognized neighbors and greeted friends as we waited in line. Once inside the ticketing area at the front of the building, the bass from the music further inside could be heard through the walls. Each time the inner door opened as those at the front of the line finished their transactions and entered with their admission receipts and skate rental tickets, the music intensified in volume. The girl’s anticipation increased with each swing of the door. Thankfully, the line moved quickly. We opted for skates over blades as a group, received our tickets, and walked inside.
The sensory blast you receive when entering a packed skating rink interior with the music blaring is a unique experience. We meandered past the arcade redemption counter, the rows of ticket-spewing games, and the claw grab-em machines as I studied the skating floor. Parents and kids zoomed around the disco ball-reflected oval-shaped track. I smiled as a song from the mid-2000s bumped through the speakers, loud enough to be felt in my gut. The smell of salty popcorn, hot dogs, and pizza wafted toward us from the crowded Snack Bar. Roughly half of the crowd on the carpeted walkway were skated up, the others like us in street shoes.
We waited in another line to swap our rental tickets for well-worn skates, leaving the shoes that we walked in wearing as a deposit. By this time, our girl’s patience was wearing thin. Knee-high benches covered in dark carpet lined the skating floor on one side every ten feet or so. After finding a corner of one that was unoccupied, we began lacing up, periodically looking over to the action on the rink as the skaters zoomed by.
My expectations for this event were low on the personal enjoyment scale. Long removed from my childhood days of visiting these places in the 90s, searching for excitement, flanked by friends, and looking to tear shit up on the skating floor in hopes of impressing my peers, I quietly smiled while observing my daughters. They were brimming with a similar gleam in their eyes to get in the action with their schoolmates.
My default game plan during these manufactured events that we frequent with our kids is to find pockets of enjoyment for myself. If accomplished, great. Oftentimes, it is only their reflection of joy that I take comfort in during the experience, having survived a few hours at a children’s museum or the movie theater watching some cast of talking animals overcoming their quirky set of challenges.
After my kids linked up with their besties and adamantly refused assistance from yours truly, and with my extroverted wife now engrossed in a conversation with a friend, I headed out onto the crowded rink alone. The rolling herd of humanity absorbed me quickly. I tried to recall how many years it had been since I had laced up roller skates and logged laps around a track to the beat of pop music. Probably twenty years, at least.
I had never mastered the seemingly impossible task of skating backwards. However, I could go straight pretty darn well, know how to slow down, do crossovers around corners, and, most importantly, deftly avoid the constant falls and unexpected obstacles cropping up around the rink. Maintaining my balance on roller skates came back quickly, and I felt comfortable testing the inside and outside edges of the wheels during the first few laps.
I glided within the crowd of kids, teachers, neighbors, and school administrators for several laps around the track to the rhythm of familiar song after familiar song. I witnessed epic falls and pileups, watching as those nearest the accident scene slowed and helped up the smiling souls. Others carefully made their way around the oval track while strapped with elbow pads and helmets. Some kids confidently pushed their rented Skate Mates around, holding the PVC plastic like miniature senior citizens, trying their best to keep up with the flow using the wheeled stabilizer.
The synth-pop rhythm of a recognizable song started as I made the left turn around the oval track near the DJ booth. Some kids in the crowd let out whoops and woos when the lyrics began after the start-stop opening of the tune. It was the anthem for the popular show on Netflix that was released the previous fall, Wednesday.
“Bloody Mary” by Lady Gaga.
Some sped up, skating to the beat of the song and the Dum Dum, Da-Di-Da catchy nonsense words. A few adventurous ones tried to mimic the loose-limbed dance while maintaining their balance, made famous by Jenna Ortega.
A sensation from my past crept up within me as I rounded the track counterclockwise to the beat of the song. It started at my feet, through my gliding legs, and into my spine, spreading throughout my being. I felt my head bobbing along to the beat and allowed myself to get lost in the experience, feeling the ever-present self-consciousness begin to fade. My speed increased enough to feel the wind hit my face and hair. I found myself moving to the beat of the music, hesitantly at first, channeling my youthful attempts at jam skating.
Despite the uninspiring appearance from the outside, these buildings contained something magical inside. The special mix of familiar faces, catchy music, and good vibes surrounding me drudged up long-forgotten memories from my youth. I savored the momentary glimpse into the past. It was the priceless sensation, albeit fleeting, of feeling young again.
I Dum Dum, Da-Di-Da’d around the skating rink that night like I was twelve years old.
The Second Visit (November 22, 2023)
We returned to Xtreme Wheels the following school year, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. This visit was an impromptu event rather than school sponsored. As I steered into the same unfortunate-looking parking lot that afternoon, I did not have to search for a spot since the place was more or less dead. We entered the building and approached the empty ticketing area. No line this time. I joked quietly to my wife about how far our lives have come since bar hopping on this day of the year in our younger days when living in Indianapolis.
With admission and rental tickets purchased, I opened the inner door for my family, hopeful for a similar experience to the last time when the Lady G. song successfully transported me back to a limitless mindset from my youth.
Once inside, however, the sensory blast felt muted this time, as if turned down in intensity. The same thumping beat of familiar pop songs blasted from the speakers, yet the crowd of patrons on the rink and those scattered along the carpeted side near the arcade games was a fraction of what it had been our first go around.
The reduced number of patrons made the place seem less spirited. Despite the same smells from the Snack Bar and similar shifting dots of light on the skating floor and walls, something wasn’t quite the same.
After acquiring our rentals and a Skate Mate for the girls (they both pleaded, we compromised and got one), we claimed one of the many empty benches adjacent to the rink and laced up. With my wife having invited my sister-in-law and her boys to join us this time, we kept an eye on the entrance door rather than the minimal action on the rink.
My nephews and S.I.L. arrived, and we waited for them to get ready before logging any laps. I felt the onset of a possible headache creeping into my awareness. Nevertheless, we ventured out as a group, and I once again began skating alone as my wife rolled along with my S.I.L. at a much slower speed than I preferred.
Despite the lighter traffic on the skating floor and the building pressure in my sinuses, I remained hopeful that I could catch a similar feeling to the one I experienced during the first visit. A clear advantage came with a smaller crowd on the rink, and I ramped up my speed as I preferred. I wanted to see if I could still do crossovers around the rink.
After mastering balance and gliding on roller skates, followed by the all-important skill of slowing down, learning the crossover maneuver while navigating around a corner is one of my favorite things to do at a skating rink. The crossover is performed by maintaining the glide with the left foot, swinging the right foot up, and stepping over the left. I can only safely pull it off when given enough space. The feeling is electric when you can maintain your speed around the corner. And it looks pretty cool when performed in rhythm to the music.
With each lap around my wife, I made it a point to give her a light tap on the elbow, shoulder, or butt cheek without slowing down as I zoomed by.
After a few songs, however, my energy plummeted (I’m now undeniably middle-aged, what can I say), and I slowed down to join their conversation. During one of the first turns while skating along three wide, somehow, my wife’s skates tangled up into mine when trying to turn midconversation, and she took a tumble, landing on her side. Helping her back to her feet and apologizing, she smiled and laughed it off, but I felt the mood I was hopeful for upon entering continuing to slip further away.
I left the pair to their conversation and spotted my oldest daughter, Olivia, across the rink. She was trying her best to maintain balance independently without the Skate Mate. She used the wide-legged, double-arm extended stance as if anticipating a fall—a classic beginner approach. I caught up with her.
“Do you want to hold hands and go a little fast?” I asked her. “I won’t let you fall.”
She agreed, and I secured her right hand into my left and braced her arm against mine. Slowly, I increased our speed, and we managed a few successful laps at a moderate pace until disaster struck.
As we turned the corner near the DJ booth, a kid wiped out in front of us, far enough away to easily avoid skating alone. However, one of the young floor guards zoomed from the middle of the rink to assist, throwing an unexpected variable into the mix on my left. I tried my best to reduce speed and course-correct, hoping to guide my daughter to the opposite side as we approached, but a slow-moving trio of kids blocked our exit path to the benches on the right.
Our only option was to come to a dead stop. Despite my best efforts to catch her, she fell on her butt and joined the stationary group on the floor around the staff member. Shaken but uninjured, Olivia was no longer interested in going fast around the rink.
Way to go, Dad.
My mood continued to sour with every unintentional accident I caused.
I headed towards our bench where we had left our coats. By this point, my headache was ramping up, and the pressure in my left ear throbbed almost to the beat of the music. I felt like a stock car driver steering a damaged vehicle back to the pits after a crash. The race wasn’t over, but I was no longer in contention for the checkered flag.
The music stopped, and the lights brightened in the building. A different rink attendant began to address the crowd using a microphone from the DJ booth, which was basically an elevated platform facing the rink near the concessions area. “At this time, we will start the four corners game,” the young man’s voice rang out through the house speakers.
The floor guard who had assisted in the earlier pile-up involving Olivia and I raced out to the middle of the rink carrying an oversized, fluffy dice with both hands. The cube-shaped object was white with black dots and was roughly the size of an exercise ball. He came to a dramatic stop in the center of the rink. The voice boomed through the speakers, requesting all participants in the game to proceed to one of the four corners of the rink.
I left my spot on the bench and joined my youngest daughter, Aubrey, in corner number two. The rules of the game were simple. Once the music resumes, we skate around the rink until it stops, and you choose a corner to stand in. The dice man then rolls the soft cube twice during each round, and you are eliminated if it lands on the number of the corner you occupied. Half the field is eliminated after each round until only two winners are decided.
The music began, and the crowd of skaters moved slowly around the rink with the lights still bright above us. We survived the first elimination, but it didn’t take long for the dice to bounce our corner number, and we rolled back to our bench off to the side. My nephews lasted only a little longer than we did, and shortly after, my wife also chose an unlucky corner. We sat as a group and watched the finalists on the rink dwindle until only four contestants remained, one occupying each corner.
Watching the final dice tosses, I struggled to remain present as the pressure in my head intensified. The two winners were decided and received their winning tickets in the middle of the rink. The house lights dimmed once again. The music returned, uninterrupted this time.
I remained on the bench, watching the gleeful pair skate over to the ticket redemption area to redeem their prizes. I followed their progress until they were blocked from my view by skaters returning to the rink.
By this time, I had abandoned all hope of any recreation of the long ago feeling of my childhood that this place had evoked a few seasons ago. The exit sign near the arcade area beckoned to me.
I was ready to go home.
The Third Visit (December 26, 2023)
The day after Christmas is a special occasion for our little family. My wife and I always try to do something extra special for Olivia, having been born on this day nine years prior. Kids with birthdays on or around the big day in December have historically received the shaft when it comes to their share of presents and special days to themselves. We didn’t want her to ever feel like that.
Despite the onset of an illness tanking the trip for me the month prior, our kids still had a blast at the neighborhood skating rink and had both chosen this option again for our family birthday celebration. As we pulled into the half-filled parking lot for the third time in a calendar year, the kiddos clutched their newly unwrapped roller skates (Aubrey) and rollerblades (Olivia). We also wanted to get our money’s worth out of those damn things.
They brimmed with familiar anticipation as we crossed the parking lot. This time, I entered the building with my expectations for enjoyment at an all-time low, but I managed to appear upbeat for the kids—or at least I was trying my best.
We purchased the admission tickets. Only two skate rentals this time. I opened the inner doors. Lights. Smells. Music. Arcade games. Little magic was left in this place for me as we laced up and helped the girls acclimate to their shiny, unscuffed wheels on the same bench we had chosen the previous two times. I am, if nothing else, a creature of habit.
The crowd on the rink was decent this time; it was not as packed as during the school event, but there were more people here than on the Thanksgiving Eve trip. Nobody we knew was here, nor had anyone been invited, at least to my knowledge. I journeyed into the bathroom before hitting the rink. I inched carefully toward the urinals on wheels like an unsteady drunk hitting the head before last call. I finished and rolled over to the sink, forcing my reflection into a half smile while washing my hands.
For the kids, I thought to myself.
I headed out and began skating at a much slower pace despite the upbeat Calvin Harris song currently playing, singing about how close he feels to someone right now. The air on my face returned at a lower intensity, but I wasn’t searching for any feeling. I had no interest in jam skating or practicing crossovers. Today was not for me. It was for my girls, specifically Olivia. We skated together for several laps as they adjusted to their new wheeled footwear.
After a few laps, I spotted a familiar face in the crowd. It was the mom of Aubrey’s friend, her two kids, and her husband. I waved and pointed them out to my family. We skated over, and they wished Olivia a happy birthday and brought her a small gift. I later discovered that my wife had coordinated their arrival to overlap with our trip. She always thought of ways to include others in our family activities, which usually ended up increasing the joy for our children (while simultaneously reducing the parental workload for us). While we waited for them to acquire their rentals, a familiar voice echoed through the speakers, announcing the beginning of the same four-corners game we had participated in last month.
“Want to play?” my wife asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “We should split up, and each take a kid until near the end. Let’s try to increase our chances.”
She agreed while giving me that look that wives reserve for their husbands when questioning the necessity of such a detailed plan for a silly game. I receive the look often. We explained the strategy to our girls and headed out.
The oversized dice rolled in our favor in the first few rounds, and all four family members remained in the game. Another round came and went without any Shriey family eliminations. I had linked up with Aubrey and spotted my wife and Olivia across the rink, together in a corner as well. Less than a dozen people remained in the game at this point.
Yet another successful round passed.
The plan was actually working.
When the music stopped the next time, our family pairs again ended up on opposite sides of the rink. This time, we were alone in our respective corners. My wife and Olivia were in corner number two, and I stood with Aubrey in corner number four. The other two corners also had only a few participants. This was the moment of truth.
The first roll of the dice. Lucky again.
“Corner number one, you have been eliminated,” the voice behind the microphone announced. I watched the field dwindle even further.
An unexpected rush of excitement bubbled up from within as I watched the rink attendant skate over to retrieve the soft dice.
Could this really work? I looked down at Aubrey, no longer needing to force a smile.
It was time for the second toss. As the fuzzy cube bounced and began a final tilt toward the ground, I almost knew with a strange certainty what number would appear.
“Corner number three, you have been eliminated.”
Only two corners remained.
Only four skaters occupied those corners: myself, my wife, and my two kids.
Un-friggin-believable.
The song started for the final round. I felt giddy. My legs were shaky, and I skated alone to the corner near the DJ booth and slammed into the barrier once the music stopped without attempting to slow down. I didn’t care about trying to impress anyone with my slightly above-average skating skills anymore. The crowd of people watching us didn’t matter. I couldn’t believe this.
We had already won. The staff didn’t know it, but they only needed to decide which combination of the Shriey family was to receive the coveted winning tickets.
I looked around the rink, beaming at each of my kids standing bravely alone in their respective corners, and pointed across to my wife, unable to stifle a laugh.
She pointed back with a knowing smile of her own. The image of seeing my wife reaching towards me across a sizable distance in a public building near the end of the year triggered a memory we shared from years ago. In downtown Broad Ripple, we had mistimed the midnight countdown while ringing in New Year’s with a group of friends at a crowded dance club in our college days. We tried to reach each other for a midnight smooch, but we couldn’t wade through the sea of humanity within time. We extended our arms toward one another as the ball dropped, smiling at our misfortune.
More than a decade later, we stood repeating a similar gesture, only emptiness separating us now. Rather than bringing a full body recollection sweeping through me as the “Bloody Mary” song had during the first trip, the college memory seemed distant, faded almost. There was something else I realized at that moment. Chasing a recollection from a previous version of my life felt far less important than what was unfolding before me.
Time for the first dice toss. First, Aubrey received the unlucky bounce. Then, my wife got the boot.
The two winners that day were finalized: myself and my oldest daughter, which just happened to be her birthday.
I trembled slightly from the rush of it all and floated over to the middle of the rink to receive the winning tickets, unaware of the wheels attached to my feet. I handed one to my smiling kid. We headed to the arcade redemption counter. We were waved to the front of the line like VIPs and opted for two treats from the Snack Bar as our prizes.
We ordered a rainbow Icee for the B-day girl and a red cherry for her sister. As we slowly skated back to the carpeted bench holding the chilled drinks, the improbability of the ending to that game astounded me. I’m no math expert and not the greatest at estimating crowd numbers, but I’d venture to say there were at least fifteen to twenty participants in each corner at the start of the game.
I felt like the luckiest dad in the world.
Aubrey’s face lit up when I arrived at the bench and handed her the red cherry. We sat as a family for several minutes, my wife and I still dumbfounded by what had just happened. The girls cared more about their sugary treats than the statistics we were pondering.
When we left Xtreme Wheels later that afternoon, I glanced back at the outside of the building. Everything appeared the same on the exterior, and it most likely does for countless other neighborhood skating rinks across the country. I’d venture to guess that nothing ever changes about American skating rinks except for the music and fashion of the times.
And yet, this place contained an element of magic within its four walls that you could not perceive from the outside.
I too often find myself searching to recapture a feeling from my past, believing that special moments touched by the divine occur primarily in youth. And yet, sometimes, God intervenes, and circumstances bounce in your favor when you expect it the least—reminding us of what it means to be alive—forcing us to experience life within the moment, empty of expectations and longings for the past.
That’s when the beauty of this life shines through, impossible to ignore. On this day, I seized the opportunity to step into life rather than seek a fleeting sensation from decades ago.
I steered the family minivan out of the parking lot that afternoon, looking over at my wife and then up at my two daughters in the rearview mirror. We skated into the moment as a family that day, creating new memories instead of chasing old ones.
