Member-only story
Culture is Not a Halloween Costume.
Dear sweet Lord, I am so tired of writing about this.
In 2015, I taught ice skating to a wealthy young White girl from the north side of Chicago. One afternoon, she and I toodled around the rink during a warm up at the beginning of a standard 60 minute lesson.
“What are you going to be for Halloween?” I asked her.
The wispy 9 year old girl looked up at me with big blue eyes. She had sandy blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. Most weeks, like today, her mother tied it up in a bow or a scrunchie.
She was from a sweet family. I liked her mother very much. The family was divorced but I did see and meet her dad, her stepdad, and her maternal grandma over the years. They were all involved in her skating and her life. They all came to get her and watch her at the rink over the two years I taught her and cared for her development on the ice.
She was a lovely girl, a little on the reserved side. But she was all knowing, maybe because of her parents’ history. She was sweet. I enjoyed her company.
We skated up to the end of the long axis on the Zamboni side of the rink and turned the corner to begin a few crossovers. The air was crisp and salty, a typical, familiar, comforting smell and feeling I had grown up with myself.
