The Story of Pamie and Derby and Me (1 of 2)
I haven’t told this story before because it’s not the kind of thing you can tell your real life friends. They don’t have the backstory, and I can tell by the looks they give me when I consider giving them the backstory, they don’t care. Nevertheless it’s important to me…
Almost a year ago Pamie posted this. If you are too lazy to click and read, despite the fact that I’ve told you multiple times over the years that you really ought to be reading Pamie, allow me to sum it up: This is the entry where Pamie reveals that she has become a member of the LA Derby Dolls. Go ahead and read it now.
So back in September of 2008 I read that entry. And the wheels in my head went for a spin. And then the wheels on my skates, they went round and round. And here’s the thing: Pamie’s entry inspired me to try it. I didn’t play team sports as a kid. I played “do your homework” and “read a book.” I was too short for the sports where you had to be tall, and too fat for the rest of the sports. And so that feeling that the kids who get to play sports get? I didn’t know what it was.
Instead I spent weekends marching around on a field. With a flag. I hated that flag. You’re supposed to spend your youth learning stuff. If you are good in school, you learn about learning and classes and studying stuff. If you’re good at sports, you learn about working with others and strategizing. If you’re good at band? Well (and the rest of the kids who were in band with me might take offense, but honesty here, since you know it’s my website and all) I learned that I could be good at something I didn’t really care to do. I learned to pretend to be excited about something I had no interest in excelling at. I learned to follow direction, show up on time, do some wicked push ups, and twirl a flag and a wooden rifle. I learned to shut up and follow. Here’s something I recently learned in therapy: I learned to deny my feelings.
I do not wish these “happy” childhood memories on anyone. I didn’t want to do band. I wanted to play music and travel. Band allowed me to do both. But you know what? The oboe player doesn’t get to march with an oboe. So she gets stuck holding flags and rifles. And then there was that year I decided to teach myself the clarinet so I wouldn’t have to wave that damn flag around. My captain, Hoku said once in practice “I don’t think you should have been allowed to play. You’re a flag.” I’ll never forget a) that she said something so cruel to me, and b) that I really let it get to me, so much that to this day if I run into her I will not say hello. She was a great motivator. Really made me feel like part of the team.
But of course I did get to play music and travel. Disneyworld, Disneyland twice, NYC, Washington, DC, London. I was in a presidential inaugural parade. I marched in the Orange Bowl Parade. A couple of Pro Bowls. Candlestick Park when it was still called Candlestick. It didn’t all suck.
Derby is different. I *want* to do it. I love the work that goes into it. The tangible results that come out. The fact that even though I’ve never been much of a team player, I know that my team is there, that we all have the same goals: We want to skate and we want to win. It’s fun to sweat. It’s fun to hit other girls. It’s fun to open up a lane for my jammer. I really really enjoy skating laps and timing myself and I’d like for there to be more spreadsheets, but that’s really just my crazy showing through. And that feeling that comes from doing things and working hard with other people? I get it now. Mix that with some endorphins and you have your typical derby girl. We do things for the rush. Fast sports. Tattoos. Piercings. (All my piercings are gone btw. And no mom, still not a tattoo to be found.)
I read Pamie’s entry at a time in my personal life when I was looking for something to express myself. (More on that later.)
I remember my 28th birthday. I was sick as a dog and in and out of bed. I was living alone in Seattle and didn’t have anyone to take care of me and make me tea or make sure my water glass was full. I spent that day under blankets, reading. The way I remember that birthday: The day I spent sick in bed with Pamie. I was reading “Why Girls are Weird.” As I recall, even though I’m just bellyaching and feeling sorry for myself in that entry, Pamie made me laugh. She held my hand through a transition. That birthday was three months before I moved out here. I still read that book when I’m feeling down.
Now, five years later, almost six, I’ve grown even more: I’m stronger. I feel like I’m less crazy. I’m a mom. I skate.
