Posted in Fatherhood
I have been battling a bit of the blues lately. We have had snow on the ground since before Christmas here and it's getting into February. Snow where I live is like a good houseguest. It stays a few days, maybe two weeks and then it's gone.
I would be enjoying this more if I was able to ski. Sadly, my condition really doesn't like skiing, especially because it seems to be weather sensitive. Not to mention the fact that my toes still remember the indirect frostbite from high school days spent rocketing down the slopes. I couldn't feel my toes for a few years. But it was a small price to pay for all the fun I had.
Bouncer
One time when I was up skiing with my high school, a friend dared me to take a run called Bouncer. It was a relatively quiet day on the mountain and I had not done that run yet. My friend assured me that it was a groomed blue, meaning steep and smooth, good for large carving turns or tucking. My friend, of course, dared me to "tuck all the way down." Being young and foolish, and never for a moment considering why it might be named Bouncer, I did it. I got into the tuck and began to really pick up speed. It was like the movies. Trees were whizzing past my field of view. Instead of thinking 40 feet ahead, I was trying to look 150-200 feet ahead for people, which were thankfully almost non-existent. The adrenaline was in high gear. My heart was beating in my ears, battling to be heard above the wind as it roared. I could feel the dynamics of my skis changing with the speed and they felt terrific as they flew down the slope.
It was just about halfway down that I saw it. It was a 12 foot-wide access trail traversing the steepest section of the blue and forming an unmarked jump. Because it was white-on-white, my eyes didn't pick it up until it was too late to do anything. Anything, that is, but scream, "Oh NOOO!" My skis hit the jump and it forced me forward to where I was looking between the pair fairly closely. The snow peeled away as I rose up into my "modified spread eagle," also known as the "Look Ma, I'm About To Snort Snow!" position. I was flying! I saw the run fall away beneath me and I was flying!
Then...gravity reasserted itself and I fell like a rock. One thought ran through my mind. "Get forward over your skis now or you're a dead man." I leaned forward until I felt like any more would result in a somersault. Wham! My skis hit the snow and if I had been going fast before I hit the jump, falling the 25 to 30 vertical feet I covered in the jump made me feel like I was on rockets! I carved two giant rooster tail turns to bring myself to a stop and look back up at the "cliff" I had just soared over. It was the bounce in Bouncer. My other friends, who were not quite as crazy as I was had stopped short and were amazed to see that I was, in fact, standing and not lying in the middle of a yard-sale of slightly used, adrenaline-soaked ski gear. That night, we exchanged our stories over dinner and I thanked my friend for the dare. It made for one of my best experiences skiing. In the years following, I would do plenty more jumps, but none so high or thrilling as Bouncer.
Further Thoughts
Looking back on those days, now almost twice as old as I was then, I see the foolishness of my actions and wonder... I really do wonder... if I can get back up there and do it again! Am I crazy? Probably. On the other hand, it is one thing to tell stories and watch others do. It is quite another thing to actually live it yourself. I want to get healthy enough to challenge my son to go faster and fly farther than I did. Are there risks? Absolutely!
I would be enjoying this more if I was able to ski. Sadly, my condition really doesn't like skiing, especially because it seems to be weather sensitive. Not to mention the fact that my toes still remember the indirect frostbite from high school days spent rocketing down the slopes. I couldn't feel my toes for a few years. But it was a small price to pay for all the fun I had.
Bouncer
One time when I was up skiing with my high school, a friend dared me to take a run called Bouncer. It was a relatively quiet day on the mountain and I had not done that run yet. My friend assured me that it was a groomed blue, meaning steep and smooth, good for large carving turns or tucking. My friend, of course, dared me to "tuck all the way down." Being young and foolish, and never for a moment considering why it might be named Bouncer, I did it. I got into the tuck and began to really pick up speed. It was like the movies. Trees were whizzing past my field of view. Instead of thinking 40 feet ahead, I was trying to look 150-200 feet ahead for people, which were thankfully almost non-existent. The adrenaline was in high gear. My heart was beating in my ears, battling to be heard above the wind as it roared. I could feel the dynamics of my skis changing with the speed and they felt terrific as they flew down the slope.
It was just about halfway down that I saw it. It was a 12 foot-wide access trail traversing the steepest section of the blue and forming an unmarked jump. Because it was white-on-white, my eyes didn't pick it up until it was too late to do anything. Anything, that is, but scream, "Oh NOOO!" My skis hit the jump and it forced me forward to where I was looking between the pair fairly closely. The snow peeled away as I rose up into my "modified spread eagle," also known as the "Look Ma, I'm About To Snort Snow!" position. I was flying! I saw the run fall away beneath me and I was flying!
Then...gravity reasserted itself and I fell like a rock. One thought ran through my mind. "Get forward over your skis now or you're a dead man." I leaned forward until I felt like any more would result in a somersault. Wham! My skis hit the snow and if I had been going fast before I hit the jump, falling the 25 to 30 vertical feet I covered in the jump made me feel like I was on rockets! I carved two giant rooster tail turns to bring myself to a stop and look back up at the "cliff" I had just soared over. It was the bounce in Bouncer. My other friends, who were not quite as crazy as I was had stopped short and were amazed to see that I was, in fact, standing and not lying in the middle of a yard-sale of slightly used, adrenaline-soaked ski gear. That night, we exchanged our stories over dinner and I thanked my friend for the dare. It made for one of my best experiences skiing. In the years following, I would do plenty more jumps, but none so high or thrilling as Bouncer.
Further Thoughts
Looking back on those days, now almost twice as old as I was then, I see the foolishness of my actions and wonder... I really do wonder... if I can get back up there and do it again! Am I crazy? Probably. On the other hand, it is one thing to tell stories and watch others do. It is quite another thing to actually live it yourself. I want to get healthy enough to challenge my son to go faster and fly farther than I did. Are there risks? Absolutely!
Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.
-- Theodore Roosevelt, 1899
Roosevelt is on Mt. Rushmore for good reason.
I want my son to take risks, to dare mighty things. As a father, my first instinct is to react and pull him back from the edge of risk. Yet, in his heart there is a man wanting to test himself, to see what he's capable of. He may be seven now, but tomorrow he's eight, then nine. When do I pass on that willingness to test himself, to gain the confidence he needs to dare to do great things? It starts right now. I will pass on what I have learned and encourage him to press into bigger and better things. I will counsel him to be wise but bold, for timidity is often excused as wisdom. I will not demand success, but I will give him a solid foundation from which to build and the courage to do so.
In such an endeavor, I will need help, perhaps moreso than the average guy because of my disability. Being disabled does not excuse me from raising a son to be godly, strong and full of courage. It is among my most sacred duties. The help I need will come from God, my family, and from a select cadre of men that can pass on to my son more skills, and more gifts. I want my son's life to be far richer, far more fruitful than my own. And it starts here.
God, help me complete this quest, in Jesus' name.
Neal's post, Always Keep an Edge on Yer Knife, Son
I want my son to take risks, to dare mighty things. As a father, my first instinct is to react and pull him back from the edge of risk. Yet, in his heart there is a man wanting to test himself, to see what he's capable of. He may be seven now, but tomorrow he's eight, then nine. When do I pass on that willingness to test himself, to gain the confidence he needs to dare to do great things? It starts right now. I will pass on what I have learned and encourage him to press into bigger and better things. I will counsel him to be wise but bold, for timidity is often excused as wisdom. I will not demand success, but I will give him a solid foundation from which to build and the courage to do so.
In such an endeavor, I will need help, perhaps moreso than the average guy because of my disability. Being disabled does not excuse me from raising a son to be godly, strong and full of courage. It is among my most sacred duties. The help I need will come from God, my family, and from a select cadre of men that can pass on to my son more skills, and more gifts. I want my son's life to be far richer, far more fruitful than my own. And it starts here.
God, help me complete this quest, in Jesus' name.
Neal's post, Always Keep an Edge on Yer Knife, Son
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