Skiing with the Kids

It might not have been a perfect day, but it was the perfect idea.

The thermometer bounced around 29, the wind blew snownados across the runs and a few rocks and bushes stuck up from the low snowpack.

Yet, my 22-year-old son, Will, my 14-year-old daughter, Abby, our friend, Suzanne, and I were going skiing.

I’m not sure about the last time I went skiing, but I assume the lift chair operators don’t recognize my face.

We called ahead to reserve our ski rentals.

“You better just call me a beginner,” I told the man on the phone, who probably skied those runs with his eyes closed, while I mentally reviewed how to stand while the lift chair swings around to scoop me into the air.

Memories of my junior high ski school experiences flashed into my head.

Back then, we had to sidestep up a ramp to the lift chair.

Each skier kept her skis horizontal and parallel as she climbed the steep ramp.

I had crisscrossed my skis, slid down the ramp and wiped out the skiers below me.

More than once.

But Will was home on leave from Air Force pilot training and we all needed some exercise.

Will and Suzanne rode to the top of the lift, choosing the fastest, iciest trail for their first run.

Abby is a natural skier, plus ice skating on our reservoir helps her muscle memory, but she needed a confidence-builder before tackling the top of the mountain.

My confidence would build if I could just ski off the mid-point chair ramp without biffing.

As our chair approached the off-ramp, a father and his little boy fumbled with their skis just to the right of the ramp.

I could not, would not, wipe out the little boy, even if he were bundled into enough puffy snow gear that he wouldn’t feel me knock him down. I picked out a route around them and decided if I had to, I would sacrifice my dignity by crashing into a tree.

As the chair pushed me down the ramp, my skis stayed parallel and the boy and his dad moved down the hill.

This would be a great day.

Abby led the way down and I watched her graceful swishes through the snow.

At times, I felt exactly balanced as I concentrated on pushing my heels first one way and then the other.

Then came the moments of being completely out of control -- panic for an instant, then gathering myself back into the swishes, hearing the comforting scritches of the snow when my balance, legs and heels returned to sync.

I pointed my skis downhill and let go of control for a little longer.

Then, amazed, I pulled myself out of it.

As Abby and I rode the chair back to the mid-point, I was surprised that she shared that panic for an instant.

“You just have to embrace being out of control,” she said.

She was right.

In fact, that was the fun of skiing.

On the next run, Abby took the moguls while I found my forgotten rhythm.

Soon, Abby, Will and Suzanne rode to the top while I enjoyed listening to my swishes from the mid-point chair.

We met at the bottom sometimes so Will and I could share a lift at least part way up.

Both kids flew down the slopes, faster and more skillfully than I ever will.

As the crunchy snow sprayed out from under my feet, I embraced being out of control of my kids as well as my skis.

Sure, they might crash and burn as soon as I let go.

Or they just might fly.