My Mother’s Skates

My mother's skates

My mother’s skates

Optimized-LGH_150224_5368-EditI learned to skate on my mother’s skates. Not that I am a big ice skater. Not that my mother was, either. But the fact that they were hers and now they are mine means more to me than anything.

My mother grew up a city girl, a native New Yorker. She remembers owning these skates in her early 20’s and taking them to Wollman Rink in the heart of Central Park.  Funny, because I remember being in my 20’s when I tried them out for the first time. I remember wrapping my ankles in heavy socks to keep myself from wobbling (I think someone had recommended that), and then experimenting as I tried to stand up without falling. And believe me there was much falling! The sheer joy of finally getting myself up on the ice was unbelievable! I remember skating around and around and around the rink. Sheer. Joy.

Shoes, or in this case skates, carry memories that last a lifetime. Because these were owned by my mother before me, the memories linger into two lifetimes.

Photo by Lauren Hagerstrom

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