Roller skating has been a beloved pastime enjoyed by generations of kids and adults alike. It’s hard to believe that the first use of roller skates was in a London stage performance way back in 1743!
John Joseph Merlin, a London resident in 1760, deserves the credit for inventing the first skates. Roller skates have certainly come a long way since then!
In the United States, roller skating gained popularity as a pastime in 1935. But it wasn’t until the introduction of skating rinks playing disco music in the 1970s that roller skating became a huge trend. It seemed like everyone wanted to hit the rinks and groove to the music!
Speaking of roller skating, let’s take a trip down memory lane. Do you remember those heavy metal skates that you could attach to your shoes? They were quite the fashion statement back in the day. But there’s something else that you might remember if you were a skater before the 1970s – the iconic skate key.
This copper-colored object was an essential accessory for anyone with roller skates. At first glance, it may look like a bottle opener or some kind of tool, but it is actually a skate key. With the skate key, you could adjust the size of your skates by fitting it into the back of the pair. And to make sure they didn’t get lost while skating, most people wore the key around their necks. It was a small but significant part of the roller skating experience.
Skate keys were such an integral part of roller skating that there have even been songs written about them! They symbolize a time when roller skating was a cherished activity, filled with fun and memories.
So, do you remember skate keys? We’d love to hear your skating stories on our Facebook page. Let’s share this delightful blast from the past with others who may have fond memories of roller skating and skate keys too!
Mother-in-Law Didn’t Expect That Breaking Up Her Son’s Family Would Boomerang Back on Her
Ludmila sat at the kitchen table, absently tapping her spoon against the edge of a cooling cup of tea.
Through the window, she watched Marina carry the last of her boxes to the car. Finally, Ludmila thought with grim satisfaction, this outsider is gone from my son’s life.
She snorted quietly. Everything had gone according to her plan. The marriage had fallen apart, just as she intended — all thanks to her careful interference.
“She fooled you completely,” she had told her son Alexey over and over. “Lazy, selfish — couldn’t even keep the house in order. You deserve better.”
But Alexey sat silent, his fists clenched in frustration. He knew the real reason his marriage had failed — his mother’s constant meddling, her sharp remarks, her endless suspicion. Marina wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t deserve what had happened.
Ludmila had seen her as a threat from the beginning. First came the little comments: “Are you sure she’s faithful to you?” Then the lies: “I saw her with another man at a café.” And finally, the cruelest blow — a planted letter, supposedly from Marina’s secret lover.
That was the breaking point. Alexey lost his temper, accusing Marina of betrayal. Tearfully, Marina had only said, “If you trust her over me, then we have nothing left to say.” The divorce followed soon after.
Ludmila was delighted. She imagined Alexey returning to her care, as he had before marriage — eating her meals, listening to her advice, dependent on her again.
But things didn’t go as planned.
Alexey wasn’t happy. He grew distant, withdrawn. One evening, he quietly asked her, “Are you happy now, Mom? Marina’s gone. I’m alone. And I barely see my daughter. Is this really what you wanted?”
Ludmila couldn’t answer.
Soon, Alexey stopped coming to see her altogether. He rarely answered her calls. Meanwhile, Marina, far from falling apart, was thriving. She found a new job, bought a small apartment, and seemed freer, stronger.
That’s when Ludmila realized — she was losing everything. Her son was slipping away. Her granddaughter Liza avoided her. And Marina, whom she had once called weak, was building a new life.
Months passed. The silence in Ludmila’s home grew unbearable.
Desperate, Alexey tried reaching out to Marina — calls, messages, apologies. But Marina’s reply was always the same: “It’s over. Move on.”
When he visited her one day, Liza opened the door — and closed it in his face without a word.
That night, Alexey ignored his mother’s call for the first time. Ludmila called again and again, but there was only the empty ring of rejection.
She decided to visit him. Alexey answered the door, unshaven, exhausted, his eyes empty.
“Look at yourself!” she burst out. “All because of that Marina!”
But Alexey’s voice was steady, stronger than she’d ever heard: “No, Mom. Not because of Marina — because of you. You destroyed everything. I lost my wife. I lost my daughter. And now I’m losing myself. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
It was the first time in her life that Ludmila felt powerless.
Days passed. No calls. No visits. The house was silent.
One afternoon, wandering through the neighborhood, she passed the old playground where she used to take Liza. She saw a little girl on the swings — her granddaughter’s familiar silhouette — and her heart clenched.
Memories came flooding back — sticky hands, carefree laughter, summer afternoons.
Ludmila had thought she was saving her son, protecting her family.
But in the end, she had lost them both.
Now, all that remained was silence.
And it was far too late to fix it.
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