This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

Ramblings on Skating

So Jon and I accompanied three of my nieces and nephews to Classic Skating the other night, and maybe it’s because I haven’t been skating in over 15 years, or maybe it’s because people in Utah feed their kids Malt O’Meal at every meal, but I don’t remember kids being so small. At least I don’t remember being that small, but I’ve been 5’11” since I was 14, so maybe I skipped being that small altogether.

I know for certain that Robbie Hawkins was not that small. Robbie was my first real live human boyfriend, as opposed to the entirely imaginary David Hasselhoff look-alike boyfriend, Brock, with whom I’d often play in the backyard. Brock was my imaginary boyfriend for a good decade, and he was sometimes personified in a full-length body pillow that I would spoon on Saturday mornings as I watched “Land of The Lost” and “Saved by the Bell.”

Robbie, the boyfriend of flesh and blood, was 10 years old and we were in the same 5th grade class. He always wore a maroon member’s only jacket that you could tell he wore everywhere, even to bed at night. He had great teeth, a smile so perfect that you knew he wasn’t ever going to need braces, and not needing braces was perhaps the sexiest thing a 10 year old boy could do. What made him totally unique, though, was how his face looked like it was being systematically colonized by a totalitarian regime of freckles.

We started “going together” one Saturday afternoon after we ran into each other at the local skating rink. He was there with one of his freckled cousins �apparently the freckles were totalitarian and imperialistic � and I was there with my father, who at the time was in the middle of a brutal divorce from my mother. I spent the entire afternoon horrified that they would play that Foreigner song “I Wanna Know What Love Is,” because I didn’t want Robbie to see me or my father crying while wearing skates, I would have just died.

At school the following Monday Robbie stopped me in the hallway before class and told me very seriously, “Your father looks like a good man.” I had no idea what he meant but I knew right then that I totally wanted to go with him. And so we started going together, not particularly anywhere, sometimes near the monkey bars on the playground, sometimes by the water fountain by the boy’s restroom. We once walked all the way around the football field, and that was the farthest I would go with a boy for at least another seven years.

We never once talked on the telephone or even held hands. The only thing ever really exchanged between us were his drawings of a female superhero who was supposed to be me. Throughout the few months we went together the superhero’s boobs got bigger and bigger, a feeble attempt on his part, I suppose, to encourage my own boobs to start sprouting. Little did he know that my boobs wouldn’t take the hint for another 11 years when I would return home from a semester abroad in England 20 pounds heavier and two boobs closer to womanhood.

Sometimes I wonder about Robbie, I wonder how things turned out with Ren�e, the really short girl he went with after me. I wonder how their skate date went the week after he and I had to stop going together, if she fell on her face or slipped on her fat ass, that two-faced scheming whore-bitch.

  • i can’t believe we’re having the conversation about going with people and no one has brought up the notes with the “will you go with me? (check yes, no, or maybe)” phenomenon. those notes are classic greatness and i know if this was a memphis boy you must have gotten one of these notes. if not, you got robbed.

    p.s. tell me it was the raleigh skateland on stage road.

    p.p.s.: i’ve been out of the internet for a few days, dooce, and am now catching up on the gig-story. is all good with your money situation or are you still needing help on your earthlink tab?

  • Ohmigosh! Dougie Vallandingham. First grade. We used to have debates in my backyard about what “screwing” was (we’d heard that word somewhere) and where babies really came from. (No we never played doctor, El Pervo… these were just discussions.)Sometime close to Halloween he had given me a tube of “vampire blood”. I had time enough to go inside and show the stuff off to my mom. That was all the time Dougie needed to change his mind about the total coolness of the goo and the horribleness of his mistake. When I got back outside he grabbed it out of my hand, jumped the fence and ran home leaving me pissed and crying in my front yard. I told my mom on him and she said I could call him an “indian giver”. I still don’t know what that means but it sounds a little racist now that I’m all growed up. Our love was never the same.

  • My first (an only so far) boyfriend was named “haig”. I used to go to his house after school and we would sit in his garden wall. Being a 4th grader he was, of course, the epitome of maturity and grownupness to my 3rd grade eyes and we were “together” for almost a full school year and then I forgot he ever existed. He used to try and kiss me so naturally I would kick him in the shins.
    I didn’t know how else to play hard to get.

    Years later I saw a beautiful boy named “Joe” at our high school. Pointing him out to a friend, she said “you idiot, that’s Haig.”

  • Xavier Green, year 7. his friend asked me out for him just as we got into class, our relationship lasted the whole period in class between recess and lunch time. in that time (roughly an hour and a half to two hours) i would dare not look at him, even if he wasnt looking at me, i just sat across the room with my head down, facing the ground, i was so scared. needless to say i broke it off by telling my best friend to go and tell him i didnt like him anymore.

  • you made me feel better about not having boobs, haha, thanks =)

  • Dobbins: OH MY GOD. It WAS the Raleigh Skateland on Stage Road. Please tell me that it’s still there!

  • right on! it is still there. i can go by tomorrow and send you some pics later on in the day (if you’d like), it still has the mismatched day-glo lettering announcing skate parties and whatnot. should i send the images to the doocedonations@blurbomat.com address? let me know.

  • if this is the meaning of life someone lend me a rope

  • In 4th grade I gave a note to the new cute kid, Derrick: “Do you think I’m ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’, and do you ‘like me a lot’, ‘a little’ or ‘love’ me. He thought I was cute and liked me a lot but apparently not enough to keep going with me after I was out sick for two days. I discovered how fickle 9 year olds can be when my good friend Emily was seen with him on the playground after I returned to school. To this day I hate both those names. And really, who wouldn’t?

  • BHD

    skateland raleigh. sweet jesus is that the climax blues band i here?

  • Kristin

    Damn! Pretty Paranoia’s got me beat. I once “went” with someone for four hours. I held his hand on the bus and wore his jacket at the basketball game and the next day he decided he’d rather eat spaghetti-o’s and play Nintendo than hang out with me.

    I guess you just can’t deny the lure of Tetris…

  • pbert

    Excellent. I still drive by the rink and think about the effort so many of us expended trying to impress the rest. Had ta learn to skate backwards so that I got as much floor time as possible.

    PS – contentproject? those the clowns that fired you?

    PPS – I met Dave a couple times. Nice guy.

  • Who wants to bet how long it will take for one of these ‘long losts’ to be searching the web for their name, and stumble across this website? 🙂 Too funny.

  • in fourth grade, i was going with teddy harter. after a couple of days, i came into class and teddy told me that i was now brian wilson’s [no, not THAT brian wilson] girlfriend and he was going with kim smith. turns out that teddy[he of the shiny golden locks]and brian [he of the stringy brown hair] thought that they should only go with girls whose hair color matched their own.seriously.i got horse-traded. because of my haircolor.

  • jocasse

    In the middle of my 5th grade year, I successfully convinced my mom to let me switch from catholic school to the ultra cool public school. On the first day of class, I spotted the most perfect 10 year old male specimen, Josiah Miller. I loved him, and of course I swore that I would never look at him or speak to him, for fear that I would melt at his gaze. And of course, the following Saturday morning, as I was sitting on the living room floor in my underwear and a t-shirt watching Saturday morning cartoons, guess who walked up to the door with his family selling Jehovah’s Witness magazines? And guess who stood there, in her underwear, staring in sheer terror and amazement? Tragically, I hid from him from that day forward, and decided that I was done with the dating scene for a few more years… (oh, because our meeting on my porch definitely counted as a date)

  • k

    this is so unrelated, so so.

    but *clap clap clap* dooce might grace the girl-bloggery with her dooce-o-tastic presence.
    *clap clap clap*

  • The first time I heard of “going together” was in 6th grade… A friend of mine confided in me about her crush on a guy friend. “I wanna go out with Travis. He’s so cute and I think he likes me too.” “Where do you wanna go?” I listened to too much of my mom’s old-fashioned dating terms and thought kids in the 90’s still went “steady.”