It was Valentine’s Day.

My friends and I were in our pre-teens so we didn’t really have guys to go on dates with (or at least we weren’t allowed to). Instead, we went to the roller-skating rink. We put on our cutest pink and red outfits with bangles that reached our elbow, trying to catch the attention of the most popular guys or make other girls jealous. The rink was our place. It was our thing to do every other Saturday night. This Saturday night was no different and since it was a holiday, it was guaranteed to be packed.

My mom dropped all four of us off. We stood outside in the freezing cold for at least ten minutes waiting to get in. Once we got in, we rented our skates, found a locker to put our belongings, and got ready to skate and dance to the newest hip-hop and r&b. And of course, flirt and mingle.

Since it was Valentine’s Day, security at the rink was at an all-time high. All of our movements were watched with a keen eye. If we got hype and started screaming lyrics the officers would move from their post and walk closer to us. We were just enjoying ourselves but the officers didn’t see it that way.

Later in the night, a fight broke out and for the first time, I saw the police macing skaters. They maced everyone — the people who were fighting, the people who were around the fight, and anyone who got in the way. I had to call my mom, and of course, she cursed us all out because it “could have been us.” She was right.

From then on the vibe at the rink changed drastically. The owners began charging more on the popular nights, which happened to be the nights we’d go. We got patted down at the door. People would fight or argue midway into the night and sometimes multiple fights happened at once.

The rink was once a place I cherished. The rink was where black culture flourished in my hometown. It was where we let go of our problems at home and where we shared dances, gossip, trends, and stories. The rink went from an escape to just another place to escape from.

I no longer felt free. I was maybe 12 at the time — possibly younger — when I noticed I had to be alert at all times. But I wasn’t just worried about my peers, I was concerned more about the police who watched us dance and skate for hours on end. Before we even laced up our skates we could tell that the officers used our skin tones to prejudge our behavior.

For the first time, as a teenager, I understood why people of color seemed to despise law enforcement (especially law enforcement that wasn't POC). The older I grew, the more I noticed that my skin tone would be used as a means to treat me differently. I couldn’t even be carefree as a teenager without worrying about making the wrong move at the skating rink or yelling too loudly or dancing too freely. I learned that I had to keep my excitement at a minimum just so I didn’t cause a problem.

At the time, I didn’t know I was being policed. I didn’t know that teens who weren’t minorities were living a carefree lifestyle while I was worried about not having anything harmful on my body as I entered the skating rink on a Saturday night. I didn’t know that it only got worse from there. I didn’t know that black joy was so threatening to non-POC.

I’m 21 years old now. After reading An Ode to The Juke Party, I reminisced. I thought about my first crush, learning how to skate backward, and listening to old school jams I knew nothing about. But then I thought about my experience of being policed every other weekend. It was draining. It was unfair. It made us take our joy elsewhere. They pushed us out without us even noticing. After a few years, we told ourselves we were too old for the rink. That wasn’t the case at all—we just could tell we weren’t welcomed.

Black youth have always been policed. Black people have always been policed. But I think the understanding of being policed doesn’t come until later — when it's too late. And even though it’s not pleasant, we have to educate our youth earlier about being policed — what it means, why it happens and how to stay joyous despite how we’re treated.

I’m not sure what the rink is like on Saturday nights anymore. I can go to the adult skate on Sunday’s now and they’ve loosened up a bit, but I can still imagine black pre-teens and teens are still getting policed on Saturday nights as if having black joy is threatening.

juke jam

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