Roller Skates & Concrete
I was the poster child for roller skates, Huffy, and the new age of rugged tomboyishness that was the acceptable nature of the 1980s for my age set. At six years old I was ripping and running on the concrete with the likes of Rasheeda, LaRon, and Mykel, thinking the world was a big ball of possibility that I would crack open at a later date. We played in and out of abandoned refrigerators and never got stuck. Sticks, dirt, and earthworms were toys of choice, and we made two short blocks seem like a mountain.
We'd grab pocket change and run to the ice cream truck to buy nerds and blow pops. Rarely did we buy ice cream. We wanted those candy cigarettes so we could look cool puffing out the dust. This was long before they were some statement of bad influence for children. We thought nothing of influence or social consciousness. I suppose it didn't occur to me that I was black or that it would even matter at any point in time. Everyone looked like me where I lived, so it was never really cause for discussion.
I'd strap on my roller skates and go barreling over bumpy sidewalks with tree roots fighting for their rightful place on the block—no knee pads, no helmet, no elbow pads. Just me, my outside-clothes, and possibility. There was wind blowing at my hair, because with my thick hair all pulled back into two ponytails—did we call them ponytails? I guess so. They were pulled into two parts with those ballies tied around them and then braided with barrettes holding the ends together. Either way the wind rolled over that piece of bare scalp. It was everything, and I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of anticipation each day for what was to come.
I miss this time in my life. A time when I was not responsible for anyone and where I got to create my own experiences with little interference save chores and homework. I could be a princess or a race car driver without question. Where I didn't feel the weight of exclusion, oppression, and disappointment. When the truth was kept carefully hidden while we climbed mountains and played in the sun.
Journal Prompt
Remember when we didn't question whether we deserved to take up space? When concrete sidewalks were our kingdom and the only limits were sunset and street signs? Somewhere between roller skates and responsibility, we started believing we deserved less. This week, we're reclaiming that childhood certainty.
Weekly Deservitude Prompt: "Take a moment to remember when you felt truly limitless - when every day held endless potential. What made you feel that way? Now, write about when you first started seeing walls instead of open roads. What changed? Write this truth to yourself: 'I deserve to feel limitless.' What opens up in your life when you believe this? What mountains would you climb today if you knew no boundaries?"
-Leenadria