Friday, November 24, 2017


There it was. 

In an Instagram story on the day before Thanksgiving, it all became clear. My son, sitting at a table with his idols, who became mentors, then friends, were now his extended family. Twenty nine years of skating was summed up in only a few words inserted over a photo taken in a restaurant.

I don’t know how to describe exactly how I felt; perhaps that’s why it has taken me a few days to organize my thoughts. But as the last Grand Prix of this Olympic season got underway in Lake Placid today, it made me think of everything it took to get us to where we are now, to every experience along the way, and to all the people who were the tight fabric – or the loose threads – that wove our journey to this revered and almost sacred place in skating called “Family.”

The timing for his post could not have been better because I had just spent a week with my daughter in Idaho culling through a mélange of literally hundreds of old photos that had managed to find their way into boxes, envelopes, tattered scrapbooks, crates and suitcases. Some I hadn’t seen in more than 25 years; some were more recent. For better or worse, they all brought back a flood of memories surrounding that one particular moment now frozen in time.

Images scattered on the floor took me on a visual and mental roller coaster ride from Vancouver in 2010, back to Aspen in 1989, and forward at seemingly warp speed to Sochi 2014 and Stars on Ice this spring. Years of competitions were laid out before me. Not all the images were salvageable after decades of wear, weather and bad storage, but most of the memories remained, even if the pictures were faded.

I bring this up mostly because today we live in a digital world where we are posting our lives by the hour and minute to a multitude of social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter and Tumblr. Everything is in the “now.” Many are designed to simply disappear. It is true that they are not all jewels worth preserving, but the aggregate make up the more linear stories of our lives.
Nick Kole, Evan Gibbs, John Coughlin, Jeremy Abbott

My point is this: 

Make sure you document and preserve important milestones for posterity. Make sure you don’t discard those photos from a young age with friends and competitors alike. Take pictures with coaches and judges. If you meet someone you look up to, make sure to record the moment. We live in a world of disposable media, but that doesn’t mean we should also dispose of the memories that caused us to press the button and save the moment. Images are catalysts. They can remind us where we have been so we can appreciate how far we have come, and how quickly the time in between has passed. And how, along the way, idols became mentors, and mentors became trusted friends who are now truly family - not just in skating, but in life.

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Closing The Book

Ice Network Interview MP3

It was Tuesday, June 20, around 7PM. My husband, Allen, was driving. I was sitting in the back seat of the car as we drove away from the Colorado Springs airport, heading home with our son. The conversation went something like this:

Me - I saw that  you did an Ice Talk interview for Ice Network with Nick McCarvel. It's supposed to air tomorrow? 

Jeremy - Yeah, I think so. (pause) Uh, you probably should know that I announced my retirement. It just kind of slipped out...

Me - That's interesting. 
(A moment of silence ensued followed by a backseat Happy Dance)

And so it went. There was a sudden panicked realization that a LOT of key people probably needed to know about this: Coaches, officials, family, friends, U.S. Figure Skating (though we "assume" they already knew at that point if they  had previewed the segment). 

There was a flurry of activity and some continuing conversation about "what's next." To be honest, I don't even remember all of what was discussed, other than that making a public statement was kind of like graduating from college and looking out over the sea of faces, caps and gowns and feeling alone in your thoughts as you contemplate an uncertain future. After all, for the past two-plus decades, you had structure. You had places to be on time; a schedule that was unrelenting. You knew where you were going and what was expected of you - and what you expected of yourself. Now, with one short sentence, it all changed. All that was left seemed like a void in front of you; a vast sea of nothingness.

Of course, that's overly third act of La Traviata dramatic. The feeling, however, is quite palpable. 

The wonderful interview aired on Ice Network June 23, giving us all an extra day to come to grips with our new reality. For me, it was probably easier. I had been quite vocal about my readiness to move from the frozen tundra of competitive skating. I'd even written several blogs that were intended to be the final word of "Life on the Edge of Skating." 

Then I listened to the interview - much of it being about our family, and about me as a skating mom. Jeremy talked about all of us telling him that we would be supportive no matter what he chose to do. But to hear him state it was very different from having Allen, Jeremy's sister Gwen, and me say those exact same words. 

I'll admit it - I misted up. Well, okay, I cried. We are an emotional clan, so that should be no surprise to anyone who knows us, or has observed us in the stands at competitions.

In a brief 20 minutes, Jeremy put a period at the end of a more than 20-year sentence so he could begin writing his own new chapter in the sport. Because of that, I had a feeling I needed to write one more chapter myself. The only difference was that, this time, mine would truly close the book. 
After all, I began this chronicle in August of 2009. It was intended as a diary of my experiences and observations as a skating mom writing about my personal experiences in hopefully an intelligent, enlightening, mostly lighthearted manner. I wanted to take readers through our very personal adventures, ups-and-downs, giant steps and a few missed-steps in the sport that has consumed nearly 29 consecutive years of our lives. 
I did that. 
No apologies, except for the things I could have said but didn't along the way. Now, those things are best left unsaid. They serve no great purpose anyway, other than to make me feel better. I'll simply leave this statement as a "gesture" of goodwill aimed at those who more than earned it over the years.

NOW we move on, each in our own direction. I'm truly grateful to oh-so-many people who helped us along the way; those who guided us, and even those who were misguided. We learned from every experience, and isn't that what life should be about?

I hope that "Life on the Edge of Skating" finds a home in cyberspace for a long time. I hope that what we have experienced as a family, and what I have shared as a skating mom, will resonate with those who are new to the sport. Some things don't change in our world; they are universal truths, even if the individual experiences are as different as every skater who dreams a dream, and every parent who dares to follow. I hope that there will continue to be new readers who find value in what I've written, and who feel free to pass those thoughts along to others coming along in this sport. After all, we are a small, close-knit and slightly dysfunctional frozen family, bound together by a sheet of ice and three-sixteenths of an inch of steel. Find your path - with kindness, civility and, most of all, love of this incredible sport that makes the most difficult look easy. 

Now, I bid not au revoir, but à bientôt. Like my son, though this book is closed, I plan on being around supporting skating until I cannot stand - or find words to write. It's what I do. It's what I love, along with all of you who have joined me on this journey.

May the Force be with you always.

Allison Scott


Sunday, January 1, 2017

Taking Stock at the Start of 2017

 It's now 2017, and it is time to take stock of what's important in my life. Certainly, my family is at the top of the list. I am eternally grateful for all of them. My husband continues to be my rock and my anchor. My 94 year old mother keeps life interesting, as do my adult kids, their partners, a beautiful and precocious grandchild and a grand-dog. They all are my thousand points of light that make up our anything-but-normal family.

 However, lately I've found myself on the fence about things outside of heart, hearth and home. I've relatively successfully transitioned from being a skate mom to being a skating mom. (There is a difference - a slightly lower level of crazy and a somewhat higher level of respect.) I don't  wear a hair shirt or flail about wailing at the loss of my previous life. I have other things to occupy my time. 

To a degree, however, that is my conundrum. 

For the second straight year, I am heading to Nationals as a spectator and not a skate mom. It is an important season for all skaters hoping to make it to PyeongChang in 2018. This is a dress rehearsal, of sorts. This is the competition where skaters will start to jockey for position and show that they are worthy opponents on the frozen world stage. Of course, next year in San Jose everything will be on the line. This year, though, we will see who stands out - and stands up to the pressure. 

This year, however, I'm going not only for the standout stories, but for the ones that are lesser known, among them is competitor-turned coach-turned competitor again, Dennis Phan. 

The same age as my son, I watched Dennis compete for many years. He was a US National Champion at Junior and a Junior Grand Prix Gold Medalist. His last senior competition was Spokane in 2010. A beautiful, stylist, Dennis did  shows and then turned to coaching. However, at 31 he felt he had not put a period at the end of his competitive sentence. Against odds, he began training again. He competed at Regionals and qualified. I watched him compete at Sectionals here in Colorado where he took Bronze. I watched him tear up with pride knowing that he had done something most adult skaters would not even dream of doing after not competing for six years. I will be there to watch him skate beautifully, for his family, friends, his coaches and himself. That will be a victory in a season of personal and professional growth. I, for one, will stand and applaud.

I will also cheer loudly for many others who continue to train hard, ignoring the sands of time that are inevitably sifting slowly to the bottom of the glass. These are the heroes of our sport. Some better known; some not. They exist in all disciplines and they continue to fight to do it their way against what others would consider insurmountable odds. They are the warriors, the soldiers and the cement that allows ice to take shape. They do not melt; they continue to add layers for the next generation of dreamers and doers. 

Why is this a conundrum for me? I should be there looking at the bigger picture, and I will most certainly be doing that. I will cheer for the men, ladies, pairs and dancers, most of whom I've known since they were mere babes on blades. My heart is with them as they make their statement about representing Team USA in 2018. I know what they are going through right now. It is all too familiar. It is a level of nerves that strikes me to the core. 

 So, I'm taking stock of what matters to me right now, and that is seeing the lesser publicized stories play out on the ice in Kansas City. It's important to remember that each skater who earned a spot by qualifying through Regionals and Sectionals made a personal statement. They worked hard to get there and they deserve their moment, and our respect. 


Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Take Note

This entry has nothing (directly) to do with the presidential debates.However, it has everything to do with how one is perceived when in the company of others -  and when one thinks they are not being watched, or heard. Today, everything is under a microscope. There isn't a move, a breath or a word that doesn't fall under the glare of some form of media, or that goes unnoticed, not only by steadfast friends but ardent critics. 

I mention this to remind you that no one is immune.

Lately, I have had texts and messages from friends who are just beginning their foray into the frozen tundra. While two are not new to skating and have been involved on the athlete side, they are now adjusting to the slightly ill-fitting and uncomfortable role of being "skate mom." Like an expensive costume, it takes a number of adjustments until it feels (somewhat) like something one can live with. The comments to me outlined not only what was happening on the ice, but in the stands. Unguarded snippets of conversation were overheard about other skaters, coaches and parents. There was discussion of body type and weight; who could do what jumps and what was "under-rotated." This was coming from parents of preliminary skaters. 

  I know that one blog isn't going to be a reason for behavior to stop, or even take a momentary pause. It is part of the fabric of who we are as people. We talk. We observe. And, yes, we gossip. It gives us something to do. For some, they use it it is used to establish their position of dominance within the "tribe." It is our nature.

But today, nothing goes unnoticed. There are virtually no secrets, no private conversations and particularly no subtle gestures, glances or physical stances that escape the eyes - or ears - from those who are merely casual and amused narrators to those whose existence seems to be defined by minutely reporting such things in great and somewhat lurid. There is no casual conversation anymore.It is all observed, scrutinized and reported in some form. 

You are not even safe in the bathroom. I have stood in many lines during an ice resurface overhearing conversations about my skater. I've sat in arenas next to strangers who have taken great pleasure in analyzing his every move, and have even made comments about our family. (Those are the most fun, particularly when I introduce myself and watch the display of 50 shades of red faces and a tumble of nonsensical words and shallow apologies.) 

All of this brings me back to the debates. The spoken word is powerful, but so is the unguarded one. The choreographed gesture is not as noticed, or reported, as the silent stance. When you step outside your private enclave, you step on stage and there is a spotlight just waiting to follow you. 

The cautionary words of a Stephen Sondheim song from "Into the Woods" drives home my point.
 How do you say to your child in the night?
Nothing's all black, but then nothing's all white
How do you say it will all be all right
When you know that it might not be true?
What do you do?
Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you for which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say "Listen to me"
Children will listen
Careful the wish you make
Wishes are children
Careful the path they take
Wishes come true, not free
Careful the spell you cast
Not just on children
Sometimes a spell may last
Past what you can see
And turn against you

Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

 Everyone is watching. Everyone is listening. As my actor grandfather was fond of saying, "There are no small parts, just small actors." Nothing goes unnoticed. Nothing.

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Nothing But The Truth - From My Perspective

Since 2009, when I began writing "Life on the Edge of Skating," the intent was to have it be from my perspective as a skating mother following the journey from the stands, imparting Yoda-like wisdom along the way and seasoning it with a large dose of humor. What it has always been about, however, is perspective.

There is a fine line between perspective and truth. Unfortunately, we are seeing that in every aspect of our lives these days. Except for death and taxes, there is little else that is absolute truth; the rest is how you perceive it to be - it's your truth because you're living it.

Thus it is with skating - and with moving on. The "truth" is (at least for me) the transition from being a skating mom to being whatever-it-is I am now has been much simpler than I thought.

Don't misunderstand. I still love skating with a deep and abiding passion, it's just that my perspective has changed. Instead of looking from the inside out through frosted windows where everything has a fun house mirror effect, my perspective has broadened. I don't find myself automatically turning onto the road where the rink is when I'm driving past. As a matter of fact, I rarely think about it any more.
 I rarely go to competitions, except for Nationals which is an annual (slightly dysfunctional) "family reunion" that I wouldn't miss for the world, unless other things in life get in the way.

Okay, I have to come clean. Truth:
  • I am still wearing the earrings my skater gave me when he was seven years old - the ones I said I would retire when he finished competing. 
  • I can't bear to pack away the years of costumes that still occupy too much space in a closet. 
  • I still watch YouTube videos. 
  • I still stand and cheer. 
  • I still occasionally cry. 
  • I am always and forever grateful and proud. 
  • I will always and forever be a skating mom. 
  •  Every E ticket paid out provided a thrilling ride.
  •  Every friend I've made along the way has given me far more than I could ever give them. 
  • Everything that's happened has shaped us into the people we are and the family we continue to be.

And that's the truth - at least from my perspective.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

All The World's a Stage - Final Thoughts on Boston 2016

I'm not sure I have "final thoughts" on Worlds 2016. I'll leave that to the people who were actually there. All I can say is that having it in the US and having it in Boston was the BIGGEST shot in the arm skating could have received in our country.
Everyone brought an A Game. It didn't matter where they ended up in the rankings, they earned their way there through years of hard work. My hope is that they'll take away a lot of pride, as well as things to work on for the future. In some cases, the immediate pain of not meeting their expectations will hopefully pass into the realm of Lessons Learned and they will move forward.
For all those skaters and coaches who will go back to the drawing board as we head in to year three of the quadrennial and the march to PyeongChang, remember every moment in Boston - good and bad - and use it to build on your strengths. After all, this is a sport  you do; it is not who you are. Good or bad, it only defines you as a person if you allow it to do so. How you view yourself is the only thing that matters in life - on and off the frozen ponds and white-hot glares of the outside world. That is your ultimate "A Game," and it lasts long after the ice melts.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Turn, Turn, Turn

I haven't had a lot to say lately about skating. As a matter of fact, my last blog was in January. Friends have asked, "Aren't you going to keep writing?" 


When I started this diary of a mad skating mom back in 2009, there was a lot to say, and I thought it was going to be more of a journal than an autobiography, of sorts. What happened some 308 pages later (yes, I know because I actually put my blogs into print) was a chronicle of experiences that amazed and astounded me. It was born out of a pressing need to let people know what it was like to be on this journey. It was cathartic to sit for hours on end, albeit in short bursts, and write about our exploits, observations, highs and lows. It was therapy.

But being on the outside looking in this year, I have to say I'm having a difficult time finding my voice. No "Go Alexander" has reverberated off the walls at competition from my husband. Nary a butterfly has flitted by begging for attention. Hyperbole has been left to other practitioners while I have stood silent sentry. (Okay, so that's a bit melodramatic but it sounded good.)

Bottom line: I've been trying to find my new new skating "identity." I went to St. Paul and found it incredibly awkward to be sitting in the center of the arena in the 7th row after 20+ years in my precious Lutz corner. I watched some inspired skating. I reconnected with a number of longtime friends and met some new ones that I've only interacted with on Twitter and Facebook. I spent a lot of time hugging, kissing and being part of a wonderful, quirky and slightly dysfunctional "family reunion." It felt as if I had donned a new wardrobe that was like a slightly ill-fitting suit; you know, the one where you like the look, but the pants are too short or the jacket too tight.

I know I've talked for a long time about switching from my best Erma Bombeck style of writing to channeling my other favorite and entertainingly caustic writer,  Anthony Bourdain. No matter how I try, I'm finding it's not in my nature. Sure, I could take potshots at a LOT of things - and a number of people - in and around skating. I just can't bring myself to do that. For every time I get angry,frustrated and cynical, there are those times that I look back in utter disbelief that I've been given this gift and a chance to share it all with you.

Next week will be the end of the second Quadrennial - that's two years of the four between Winter Olympics. I know what it's like to be a parent going through this time. I was blessed (or cursed, if you count the boxes of consumed antacids) to do it twice. The anticipation is palpable. Expectations are sky-high. 2018 seems like it is as far away as another galaxy, and about as incomprehensible. It isn't. Believe me, I know. 2018 will become the number of seeming seconds before the Nationals that will determine our Olympic skating team for Pyeongchang. It's right around the corner, and while it will not mean another trip for me as a skating parent (though I hope to go as a volunteer), it is the year I will retire from my job and move into the next chapter of my life.

I suppose that is part of why I haven't had much to say. Life seems to be writing those chapters. At this point, I'm the annoying backseat driver who keeps trying to put the pedal to the metal or apply the imaginary break; in reality, I'm only along for the ride.To be brutally honest, that's what I've always been - along for the ride. 

The other night I was watching PBS and there was a show on featuring folk and rock singers from the 60's. I was about to turn it off when out walked Roger McGuinn of The Byrds. I went to Chicago Latin School with Roger (then Jim). He was a senior when I was in 7th grade and he performed many times in class assemblies. Roger looked amazing and his voice still had a wonderful resonance to it. He started playing the iconic "Turn, Turn, Turn." Of course, in the 1960's the lyrics had another purpose behind them. However, now the words from The Book of Ecclesiastes made me reflect on where I am now in my life. 

To those skaters, coaches and parents either at the start or nearing the end of your journey, I have only one thing to say: Enjoy the process and be kind to one another along the way. Skating is a difficult sport. Don't get caught up in what others may say about you on line or in print. Stay above it, if you can. Be the best athlete, coach and parent you can be because that's all you can strive for in life. Pay it back when you can; always pay it forward because that's an obligation you should have to everything in life. And when the time comes, decide how you want to be remembered by those around you. That's the only important thing.

So, please forgive me if I don't write as much any more. I won't stop, but it will be less frequent. It's a turn of events that was as inevitable as growing older - and hopefully wiser. Thank you for your understanding.