My mom wouldn't let me play outside when I was kid. I couldn't go snowboarding till I was 18, and every skateboard I ever brought into the house always mysteriously disappeared. So I may have been a little accident-prone, but I also had an overly protective Jewish mother whose goal in life was to keep me in one piece. So how the heck was I going to tell my mother I was trying-out for roller derby?

My Dad's only comment when I was showing him clips on youtube.com was, "so. . . where's the ball?" His eyebrows furrowed, expressing genuine confusion. Surprisingly he was totally into to it. He loved the name I had chosen, and professed himself a die-hard fan of the sport.

Most girls I know who skate have similar reactions from their parents. They are either curious as to when the ball comes into play or they agonize over the potential reality of serious injury.

When I did finally tell my mother, she had a hard time understanding why I would want to do this. Why would I want to put myself in harms-way? What could I tell her? That I had this insatiable need to get my ass beat and to kick-ass. What was she going to do? Ground me? Take away my skates? Forbid me from ever seeing my derby-sisters again? Then it dawned on me . . . I'm not 14 years old and this is not like the time she took my rollerblades away. I'm a 26 year-old woman and live 4 hours from my hometown, so it's not like I wasn't going to play if she disapproved.

I had built a very large mountain out of a very small molehill. It was the guilt. Knowing that if I never told her I would feel guilty for keeping something from my mother, and if I did tell her I could potentially risk her disapproval and therefore forever live my life secretly burdened by guilt.

What is up with this power my mother wields over me? Any Jewish kid will tell you that we have been culturally conditioned to be compliant. When one steps outside that realm, a little dark cloud starts to form over your head and slowly churns it self into a full blown thunderstorm I like to call guilt. I digress.

I felt like I was coming out of the closet but instead of professing my love for another woman, I was confessing my devotion for my roller skates. She's come to accept it more then I thought she would. Of course she has yet to see the game played, and more importantly me in the game. Surprisingly she does really like some of the strings that come attached to derby. You know, cool names, cute outfits, getting to hang out with your girlfriends four nights a week. The perks.

I could easily understand any parents concerns about their adult children taking up an extreme sport. It's not like I'm playing Crockett, I'm knocking bitches around and getting my ass handed to me on a regular basis. It's fair to say I am not the first rollergirl who felt like I had to out myself to my family.

Becoming a rollergirl really is a change of lifestyle. I was essentially telling my parents, you may have thought that I was like this, but I'm really like that. In some weird way roller derby kind of helped my parents understand me, and in some ways helped me understand myself. I am ruff and tumble, I like to physically challenge myself and push my own limits. This is who I am and this is my life . . . on skates.

Labels: Family, roller derby