In roller derby, there is an abundance of passion to go
around, both on the track and off. Skaters
are passionate about their performance, their events, their hardware, and their
sisterhood. With these passions come
strong emotions. Being a derby husband
in training, the trick is to learn which emotions are the result of which
passions, and how best to deal with them.
The XY chromosome that defines me compels me to, no scratch
that… REQUIRES me to solve problems, even when they are not mine to solve. That’s just the way we are wired - When faced
with an issue, provide a solution. It’s
that simple.
So when the politics of derby enter household discourse, I
am full of solutions; few of which are welcome of course. It’s easy just to tell myself to step back
and listen rather than open my mouth, but stopping the synapses from triggering
my vocal chords is not as easily done. I have decided that I need not be involved at
that level, and do my best to steer the conversation elsewhere when said
subject matter arises.
The plight of a derby husband is to be once again a bachelor
of sorts. Our household chores increase. Our dinners become solo events. And our DVRs fill up for lack of the four
eyeballs necessary to approve a deletion from the hard drive. Finding a way to be involved in derby, while
not spewing our opinion, is necessary for the relationships between we derby
husbands and our absentee wives/girlfriends to survive.
The involvement/solution catch 22 has caused me to rethink
my approach. Rather than step onto the
landmine of derby conversation in the house, I’ve rekindled my interest in old
hobbies, namely photography and web development, both of which have allowed me
to stay attached to my derby girl’s derby life.
In doing so, it’s sparked some passions that have hid dormant in me for
some time. In short, her derby life has
added value to mine, and I am the better for it.
Following one of my awoken passions, I watched my love’s
last bout solely through the lens of my camera, capturing glimpses of
individual passions that had long faded from the track. With the bout on the line, and with :20 to
go, my girl was called upon to toe the line one last time against the one-woman
wrecking machine who scored most of the opposing team’s points bringing them
back from a 50 point deficit to a mere 6 points. As the last jam unfolded through my lens, I
began to witness the emotions escaping from these very passionate women. Some were of elation, some were of fear. I found myself dropping my camera to my side to
watch my bride as she struggled to keep up.
For the first time, I cheered out loud, louder than I ever have. I wanted her to know I was there supporting
her, supporting her passions.
When it was all over, I met up with my angelic one, her eyes
swelling, trying to hold back the tears for having not scored enough points to
hold off the comeback. I saw her
passions for her team in those teary eyes, for she felt she had let them down. I had no solution to give. Rather I had understanding, and a kiss.