Yesterday I took my son rollerblading, and I stopped at a sporting goods store and bought my own pair of blades. We then went over to Menlo School, and spent a couple hours skating around.
My son always always like rollerblading, but he really liked being The One Who Knew How To Do It. And to be honest, he is better than me: that amazing neuroplasticity of 5 year-old brains, combined with a greater willingness to take risks and fall down, combine to make him pretty audacious. I don’t fall down as much, but I also don’t skate as close to the edge of my abilities as he does. Which means he’s probably always going to be better than me.
At dinner later on, he talked about how normally Daddy is the one who teaches him stuff, but when we’re rollerblading, he’s the one who teaches Daddy. He got a kick out of that.
He actually started instructing me when I was trying out the rollerblades. We were in the store, beside a guy who was trying running shoes and his wife. When I got both blades on and stood up, he stood back and said, “Okay, now go Step Step Glide!”
Behind me I could hear the woman, trying not to laugh out loud.
[To the tune of Bob Dylan, “Señor (Tales Of Yankee Power),” from the album “Biograph (Disc 3)“.]
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