Son #1 got roller blades for Christmas this year. Santa's mysterious helpers fulfilled his one Christmas wish with their generosity. Words cannot describe Son #1's joy.
When he unwrapped his present, Son #1's eyes lit up. He screamed with excitement as he rushed to try on his new blades. After everyone had finished opening their presents, we all walked down to an undeveloped part of the neighborhood. Son #1 practiced balancing on his roller blades but fell often on the hard concrete. His dad and tio (uncle) were tossing a football back and forth. Son #1 wanted to join in the game. My little boy decided to take off his roller blades for now and play.
The very next morning, Son #1 woke up at the crack of dawn and put on his roller blades. He carefully made his way to the kitchen. Once there, he methodically practiced rolling to the pantry door from the kitchen table. He spent the entire day on his roller blades working on balance, turns, and speed. With the exception of meals and restroom use, Son #1 maintained constant motion.
As the day began to close, my husband walked through the kitchen to his coffee pot. Son #1 rolled passed him and asked in a breathless voice. "Dad, can we go outside so I can practice on the sidewalk?"
My husband paused for a moment and responded. "No, son. Not yet. You need to practice more in the kitchen before you take your blades outside. Keep doing what you're doing! You'll get the hang of it soon."
"But D-a-a-a-d! I want to get good so I can roller blade on the green belt like you and mom!" Son #1 complained.
"That green belt is pretty steep. Keep practicing. I bet you'll be ready for the green belt when you are eight years old." My husband encouraged.
Eight seemed like an eternity to my eldest seven year old son. He crossed his arms and pouted. "Yeah. But by the time I'm eight, I'll be old!"
Well, good grief! If eight is considered old, then forty must be prehistoric.