The Way It Was
For the young and young at heart, the local rink was the place for friendship, fun—and flirting
Growing up in Saskatoon, beginning in late fall, skating rinks appeared on the grounds of every elementary school in the city. Knotty, slivery plywood panels were bolted together into a huge box braced with two-by-fours. Following the arrival of the first freeze, every day for weeks in below-zero temperatures, each school’s custodian grappled with a long snaking hose that spewed a thin layer of water over the frozen ground inside that box. Layer after layer froze solid into a final thick sheet of ice and the rink was declared open for business. There were figure skating and curling lessons during school hours, extra-curricular broomball and hockey games after dismissal, and night skating for everyone on the weekends.
Saying it was cold was an understatement during those long Prairie winters; eyelashes freezing together accurately describes the frigid weather. In minutes, that mad-dog cold relentlessly sought out and bit any exposed skin, leaving white blotches, aptly called frostbite. Exposure of a nose, cheek or finger was cause for concern and we dressed for protection over style. Puy parkas with big hoods, thick leotards under our pants, heavy socks inside clumpy, felt-lined boots and scarves knitted by our moms and wrapped around our heads, as well as not one but two pairs of woollen mittens, were the uniform of the day.
Despite this numbing winter weather, on clear days the towering blue sky with its dot of gold skimming the horizon was brilliant and caused your eyes to squint. Millions of snow-diamonds on the drifts of snow sparkled like beautiful displays in a jewellery store.
The weather did not stop our outdoor activities; they were part of the Prairie culture, a challenge, a symbol of our stamina and defiance of the elements.
Anticipation
Everyone had skates. As a young girl, going to the rink on Saturday night was a big event. Besides the outing and exercise, we were also beginning to explore the ancient boy-girl mating dance, and we wanted to look our best. Large, fuzzy hats were in vogue one winter, a shiny brooch pinned to the side as an added fashionable touch—or at least we thought so. My favourite was a white, furry stovepipe hat that
covered and
warmed my ears, and on it I’d pin a golden maple leaf studded with “emeralds.”
After supper, the other girls on the block and I trudged through the snow, our skates with the laces tied together flung over our shoulders, giggling our way to the rink. By then the night sky was inky black, dotted with stars that peered and blinked at our little troupe as we squeaked our way over the crusty snow.
Something else in the crisp air was keeping us warm on our trek—boys might be hanging around the rink after their hockey games, or even better, staying for the Saturday night skate and waiting for us to arrive. Our excited chatter drifted upwards into cloudy pus.
Once there, we’d clamour to get inside the hut beside the rink. In one corner was a dented oil stove, its chimney sticking through a rough hole cut into the roof. It blasted out its hot breath like a friendly fire-breathing dragon. We thawed out in relief.
Jostling for a seat on the slivery benches, I would sneak a glance from under half-closed lids to see if Denny was there. Denny was my crush in Grade 7. He was my friend’s older brother, and my second experience at true love—ian was my first in Grade 6. If I saw Denny, I didn’t need the stove to stir up heat in my cheeks and warm my heart. When he wasn’t at the rink, I would deflate like a soué taken out of the oven way too soon.
Exhilaration
As we had come to the rink to skate, however, and not merely to flirt, my friends and I laced up our skates regardless of any “sightings.” We left the heat of the hut and, like puy geese, waddled along the blade-scarred boardwalk attached to the rink and launched ourselves onto the ice.
Spotlights on top of tall, crooked poles lit up the ice and skaters, making the brooches on our hats sparkle. Music crackled from overhead speakers—fast, rhythmic and, oh yes, sometimes romantically slow songs from the Hit Parade, featuring stars of the day such as Bobby Darin, the Everly Brothers, Patsy Cline and Johnny Mathis.
Push, glide, glance, push, glide, glance. It was quite a feat to skate gracefully over bumps and divots, cranking at the rink’s corners in a never-ending circle, while nonchalantly searching for your true love. Was that him in the far corner? A smile would break through my numb, frozen cheeks.
Round and round we’d skate, magnetically drawing closer and closer to each other. Soon the inevitable first game of “shove and chase” would break out, as we performed that age-old ritual of curiosity and courtship, strange feelings swelling our hearts.
Positive that “he was the one,” I danced and twirled, my cheeks sparkling and rosy from the cold—and young love.
Above in that twinkling sky, the gods chuckled and smirked. They in their wisdom knowing that I was oblivious to the obvious; this would be the last winter skate with my crush. Next year, he would be starting high school, suddenly “too old” to bother with anyone still in grade school—or skating at the school rink on a Saturday night.