How I Rediscovered My Love of Roller Skating at Age 51

The freedom of roller skating as a young girl was stolen from me, but now that I’m in my fifties I’m beginning again

Tsara Shelton's black roller skates for the hobby she returned to in midlife.

I was a pre-teen girl, 11 or 12 years old, when my grandma gave me a pair of roller skates. I don’t know why she gave them to me; I can’t remember ever voicing a desire for roller skates. Goodness knows I wasn’t the sporty try-something-new type. Now that I’m writing this I realize maybe that’s why she gave them to me: to get my nose out of a book, get some action out of my head and into my body.

Whatever the reason, I fell in love. My sister and I went skating at our local roller rink, loving the lights and the music. Singing and skating together amongst strangers.

But with my own skates I was free to skate alone, at any time. And I did. I spent hours on the basketball court behind our house in Ontario, Canada, skating around and around and around while singing and imagining to myself.

I never tried to get good at skating, only to be comfortable at it. I wanted enough skill on skates that I could let my body move while my mind imagined. (Sorry, grandma. This kid isn’t getting out of her head no matter how many wheels you put under her.)

That freedom, that place where childhood is still intact but at a slightly older age, permitting you to take it places, was phenomenal. It lasted until…

My stepdad molested me when I was 12 or 13. My memory of the touching is cruelly intact, the specific age of my budding body less so.

My thoughts shifted from examining the experience of life to determining what to do with it.

I stopped skating.

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I’m 51 now.

A few years ago, I invested in a pair of roller skates.

I had reminisced for decades about those carefree roller days, but it hadn’t ever moved beyond remembering into doing.

Then my grandma died and left us grandchildren some money. With mine, I invested in roller skates. (I’m only now realizing that grandma bought both of my pairs of roller skates. Well done, grandma.)

I’ve spent the last few years skating around our backyard swimming pool, singing passionately to myself.

Why now?

It’s simple: I want my beginning back.

I stopped skating after being sexually abused, but I didn’t stop moving.

When I was 21, a mother of two, I moved to Texas. While there, I had two more children. We lived in Texas, then California, then Texas, and back to California— around and around and around. Now one of my sons lives in Texas, two live in California with their children, my gorgeous grandchildren.

And one son lives in Quebec, Canada, with me.

Now that I’m back home, in Canada, maybe I want my beginning back. I’m steeped in reminders of it here.

These seasons, these smells, these languages, are the ones I grew up with.

Canada and the southern United States are similar, but different. In the United States I was still driving on the right side of the road, meeting people of diverse backgrounds, and telling my children they were free to become who they wanted to be. I was still paying with dollars and tipping waitstaff. I was still going to McDonald’s to let my children use the playland. Returning to Canada, though, I was hearing French again, experiencing familiar immersion again, seeing open windows on the houses when I went for walks again. I was eating Nanaimo bars and Poutine. Drinking Tim Horton’s coffee and turning up The Tragically Hip on the radio.

This stirring of my youth had me remembering my story, thinking of the events—beginning with the abuse by my stepdad—that pushed and pulled me in a variety of directions.

This stirring is perhaps why I went beyond remembering into action, investing almost $400 CAD in a pair of simple roller skates.

When the skates arrived, I was thrilled. I was also out of practice. Skating wasn’t like riding a bike; my muscles hadn’t memorized the motions. I was wobbly and unbalanced, like a baby learning to walk. I hid in the basement, where I could use the walls and pool table to catch myself, and where any onlookers would be people who love me.

Soon, though, I worried about ruining the floorboards with my stoppers (ah, yes, I’m definitely an adult now!) and headed to the concrete in the backyard. Around and around our swimming pool I went, the water at first a frightful threat (I’m not a good swimmer at the best of times, never mind in skates) and then simply a lovely friend. Me going around and around and around, singing to myself, while the pool offered guidance and atmosphere.

I’ve spent the last several summers roller skating.

When the skating is smooth, when the songs are just right, when the breeze is gentle and the pool shimmers, I’m my young self again. I’m that girl in skates on the basketball court.

But I’m not only that girl; I’m also a woman with grown sons and five grandchildren. I’m also a woman distracting herself between visits. I’m also a woman expanding herself in this space. I’m also a woman practicing balance and celebrating life.

I’m also a woman willing to look silly, singing with wild abandon while skating in circles.

I’m not doing any of it particularly well, but I’m doing it all with everything I’ve got.

I’m not fooled; I didn’t get my beginning back.

But this is another beginning.

And it’s a good one.

Tsara Shelton is a writer of musings, a sipper of coffee, a reader of stories, and a reluctant performer. Her work has appeared in publications such as Blank Spaces, The Medley, The Mighty, Disabled World, and Sexual Diversity, among others. Tsara enjoys mixing insight with humor via her blog, Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton.