my sister, the skater

Last Friday, we went to my sister's first ice-skating performance. Wow. Anne hasn't been at this very long and she's already tearing the rink up—tearing it up so much that I didn't even manage to get a decent picture. Good thing my dad brought his camera, too.

The weird thing about the performance was that I spent most of it trying not to cry. Leave it to me to get emotional about a Halloween ice skating recital. Reasons:

1. When I ice skate, the potential for falling and breaking my tail bone hovers as long as I'm on (or within 15 feet of) the ice. Those kids went out there, knowing that they might not only fall smack on their butts, but do so in front of hundreds of people. Somehow, their risk made their performance compelling, even though nobody did a triple lutz.

2. I would never take that risk. But a girl with down syndrome did. Sure, she may never go to the Olympics, but does that matter? She's braver than I am.

3. When all the skaters came back on the ice at the end to take a bow, Anne took a little while getting out on the rink. Why? She was helping a younger boy—one in the beginning level skating class. She held his hand and went slow, even though she can cruise on her skates when she gets going.

Yeah, that's my sister.