April 2010
Week of April 11, 2010
Grouchy Dad
The skate guards were not doing their job. Coaches were teaching private lessons in the middle of the rink, myself among them. My student was rounding the hockey circle in backward swizzle pushes and kids kept cutting through the area, many of them wildly pushing walkers. For those who don’t know what a walker is, it is the worst nightmare of the skating coach for several reasons. A walker is basically a metal frame that a kid can lean on supposedly to support himself while learning to stand on skates. In principle it sounds fine. However, children tend to use them far beyond the introductory period. They use them as toys, often pushing the things like an out of control shopping carts. They offer a false sense of security, which allows skating much faster than the child could ordinarily control.
I asked plenty of kids to please stay out of the middle. One kid had the nerve to demand why. I told him we are teaching lessons and are concerned for everyone’s safety. It seemed, I was interrupted every couple of minutes to shoo interlopers out of the center. I saw the skate guards, two adolescent boys in hockey skates sauntering around the arena engrossed in a teenage conversation. I asked the guys to please help us divert children from the lesson area. They agreed and may have actually done it once or twice. However, a few minutes passed and I was back to patrolling the rink myself.
After directing one little boy to the straightaway, an adult approached me. “Do you own this?” he demanded.
At first, I did not think I heard him properly and said: “Excuse me?”
“Do you own the rink? This is a public session.”
He was being sarcastic. He did not believe I actually held the deed to the building. I told him I am a coach and am teaching a student. “Fine. You don’t talk to my son. You talk to me if you have a problem,” the man barked and skated away.
As soon as I had a break, I reported the incident to the manager. She told me the next time something like this happens, I should send another coach or guard to find her, and she will deal with the disgruntled parent. She was willing to support us. The skate guards should be directing traffic, not the coaches. The owner, the guy who actually holds the deed to the property, does not allow us to cone-off part of the surface for private lessons during public skating.
Looking at the situation from the parent’s point of view, I was not wearing a nametag or jacket that in any way identified me as a representative of the rink. Nothing distinguished me from a parent who might be trying to hog the ice for my own daughter's benefit. The manager decided to order name-embroidered jackets for the coaches. Of course, we have to pay for our own jackets, but I am willing to do that. These confrontations do not happen often, but when they do, they are very uncomfortable. Also, the jackets will identify us as pros to anyone who might want to request a lesson. I look forward to getting my jacket and wearing it whenever I teach.
April 16-17, 2010
My Poor Butt
I have not taken a bad fall since July 2006 when I landed in the hospital with a broken ankle. Since most of my present skating is restricted to demonstrating low freestyle and basic skills for my students, the risk of another disaster is low but not zero.
On Friday night while teaching group freestyle, I watched a girl attempting backward crossovers into a wind-up entrance for scratch spin. The kid looked like a horse trying to count. Poor technique leading into a challenging skill is not unusual. A student will be so distracted by the skill in question that she forgets how to do everything else leading into it. So, I showed the girl proper back crossovers insisting she focus on them before even thinking about the wind-up or spin. My blade caught something on the ice and I went down before I knew what hit me. Usually I fall on my buttocks, impacting a soft cheek. Not this time. I fell squarely on my anus. Tailbone falls can be debilitating. Fortunately I have never had one, but this fall missed my coccyx entirely and went straight to my butthole. Everybody has heard of falling on one’s ass, but this gave the phrase new dimension. I’ll pass bloody stools for a week.
The manager saw my accident and rushed to the scene, although I gathered myself quickly. My students were also concerned and came to my rescue. I skated to the manager. “Kay, are you alright? What happened?”
I glanced at the ice where I fell. Black fuzz smeared the ice where the Zamboni had passed. “Looks like there’s something on the ice.” By this time, one of the maintenance men was also attracted to the incident. Leslie told him to scrape the ice. He came out with a hoe of some sort and removed the fuzz.
“I can’t have you out with an injury,” the manager said. Nice to be needed.
That evening I forgot to bring my pullover pants and was skating in light-colored nylon yoga slacks. I turned around and asked her if I was bleeding. It seemed like a possibility. I was not bleeding, thank God. I am definitely too old to be getting my first period.
My butt hurt for the remainder of the class and I went home sore and aching. I stretched my legs and back. The shock of that fall made my back tight. I thought for sure I would be unable to get out of bed the next day. Saturday morning, the incident was forgotten. No pain, no bruising, no blood. I rebounded from that fall, apparently none the worse for wear. I still have only fallen once more than I have gotten up.
The coach jackets came in and I was happy to unfold the brand new soft polar fleece fabric. The rink’s logo was embroidered on the left and my name on the right. The garment features ample pockets for markers, tissues, and business cards with extra space to spare. The hangtag dangled from one sleeve. Extra large. I had not ordered extra large. I ordered large. Heaven help me if I need a unisex XL. I put the jacket on over my bulky sweatshirt. The sleeves covered my hands. I rolled them up. Never mind room for typical coaching paraphernalia. I could fit another person, a flashlight and a camp stove. Polar fleece is polyester. Polyester does not shrink. Damn. Once a garment is personalized, it cannot be returned. I envied the other pros whose jackets fit nicely. I felt like a soup sandwich in my baggy version.
The coaching staff looked very polished and professional stepping onto the ice and teaching group lessons in matching rink wear. The first rink where I coached gave me a jacket; unembroidered and impersonalized. I still have it. It came with a name badge that I kept in the pocket so I would not forget to bring it to the rink. My students admired my new jacket; although I could hide at least one of them in it with me.
In addition to looking professional, the jacket identifies me as a staff member. People are more likely to respond when I ask them to move out of the center of the rink during private lessons. I no longer look like a selfish parent hogging the ice for my own kid. Potential clients are also more likely to approach me for lessons, though this has not happened yet.
I keep the jacket in the backseat of my car because it will not fit into my skate case. I wear it whenever I am in the building and on the ice.
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