PRESSED BETWEEN THE PAGES
DeAnn (Wolkow) Kruempel, columnist
Wheels, Keys, & Freedom
“Don’t lose the key!” Mom admonished in a way that made me wonder if that metal key with the butterfly handle came with stories about my siblings. The key was attached to a string of red yarn and hung from a nail in what we called the porch, which was basically the entry.
The key was the secret to a whole new set of experiences on wheels—the steel wheels of roller skates. Ours, which were handed down through my siblings, clamped onto shoes and could be adjusted in length. The key was made to adjust the metal clasps that curved up on each side of the front and held the toe in place, and to tighten the nut underneath that locked the two metal foot plates together. The back of our shoes butted against a “heel” which had slots for leather straps that buckled in front of the ankles.
I sat outside on the wooden stoop. Stepping each shoe onto its metal platform, I pressed the ends together, then used the key to tighten the hexagonal nut that held the two plates in place.
Satisfied that the skates were firmly attached to my shoes, I buckled the straps and stood up. In spite of much arm flapping and breath holding, I still had to pick myself up and dust myself off a few times. Eventually I caught on and learned to keep the wheels under my feet. The three yards of cement sidewalk provided barely enough runway to get started before having to turn around.
The wooden surface of the stoop provided a whole new experience; the wheels turned faster and the “clunks” thumped louder with each skating step. Deciding I needed more space, I clunked up to the front door and did a roll/walk/teeter step into the house.
“Mom, is it ok if I go down to the basement and skate?” Mom was likely envisioning me crashing into her jars of garden produce that lined the basement walls. She told me to be careful.
Never did it occur to me to remove those skates going down the wooden steps or even to tighten them with the key. I simply butt-scooted down.
As often happens in life, great expectations turn to disappointment. The cement was rough down there. And the steps divided the room, so I had to slow down and totter around them.
Already-scraped knees got me back up the steps, though one skate flopped off its shoe and crashed along behind me.
Back outside, I removed the skates and sat on the stoop, chin in hands feeling sorry for myself. After what seemed like forever, Dad came through the yard gate. He took in his little girl’s skinned knees and roller skates lying on the ground, one splayed to Big Foot size.
“If you sweep out the corn crib you can skate in there.”
Suddenly, a whole new world opened. I spent many afternoons that summer gliding (Ok, maybe lurching) back and forth in the corn crib, skate key swaying back and forth around my neck. I still crashed a few times. I still neglected to adjust the key-tightening places and ended up dragging one skate behind me when it fell off.
The side door closed down behind me, giving me my own private space. The open-spaced red boards allowed the South Dakota breeze inside. I felt free and independent. I had wheels. What more could a kid ask for? And I didn’t even lose the key!
The author’s column appears in a growing number of Midwest newspapers. Kruempel compiles and publishes the column stories every year. She has also published a historical fiction series,
“Promises to Keep.” Her ten books are available on Amazon. Signed copies may be purchased at the Harrison County Welcome Center. Contact Kruempel at deannkruempelauthor@gmail.com.
