by Salvatore A. Barcia Jr. (Posted March 26, 2019)

“Daddy, help! Help!!!”

My heart skipped a beat – my eight-year-old son was trapped! Skis off, he was sliding backwards on the icy slope we should’ve avoided, and there was not another soul in sight. I needed to act, and act fast!

Learning to Crawl

Those of us in Generation X enjoyed the final era when kids were left to their own devices. Besides Little League or scouts, most spare time for the average middle class child was spent on the block rather than following a relentless schedule of organized activities. Some took lessons and other Renaissance individuals knew how to do everything, but to a large extent many of us just . . . played. Consequently I never developed certain skills, skiing included.

I tried skiing as a teenager, but never really learned. In high school I joined some overnight trips offering an introverted youth an opportunity to connect with others. With minimal skiing, though, my only real memories were playing cards and everyone anxiously hoping to exit the bus in time for Miami Vice.

In college I joined friends for a Vermont trip. Out of my shell, I was mistakenly going only for social reasons and had naïvely assumed all were novices like myself. Riding a huge gondola to the summit, an “uh-oh” realization emerged as I watched my companions glide off like Olympic medalists. My inner Jack Tripper contemplated learning in the next 30 seconds, but I could barely stand up. Anxious eyes were grumbling, “Oh man, this dude can’t ski!?!” Calls for Calgon to take me away went unheeded.

Thankfully many of them went on at my coaxing. One friend (Joe) took me under his wing and by the end of the trip I held my own. With his goodwill in mind, I often remind myself not to get frustrated when someone needs guidance. His support allowed me to enjoy skiing as an adult. Thanks, Joe, wherever you are.

Out with the Gang

In my early 20s Hunter Mountain was our target. We planned trips in the typical style of 20-something youth: as cheaply as possible, squeezing lots of people into a tight room with throwback 1970s furniture. On later trips to Killington we promoted ourselves to more accommodating lodging. These excursions were quite enjoyable, however my friend Shawn decided karma was telling him not to ski after two straight years suffering injuries on the first day.

In 2006 I took my final trip as a “young adult” (in my mid-30s), residing at a dream ski-on/ski-off house. My penchant for minimal investment in skiwear led to some unfortunate nicknames. I gather the leftover 80s sweatpants and shoddy snow-covered pea coat was a sight to behold.

The Family Guy

Recently my wife and I introduced our son Luciano to skiing. Hearing tales from 2006, my wife made me promise to purchase ski pants. I grudgingly obliged.

Like many children, Luciano learned quickly – it’s easier to absorb as an empty slate unburdened by the demands of adulthood. Unfortunately, also like many children, he immediately felt invincible and fancied himself an expert skier. So when we traveled to Windham this past February he craved more difficult slopes. On the first day we decided to tackle Wolf’s Prey, a cross between intermediate and diamond. Because it was later in the day when comfortable powder was overpowered by forbidding ice, I suggested we skip. As expected, he ignored my advice and started down the slope.

Suddenly Luciano stopped. Staring down the sheet of ice, he admitted, “I don’t want to do this.”

After a few exchanges we decided to backtrack on foot. Luciano was at the brink of a huge drop, making his trek more difficult. He removed his skis and started his ascent, but then fell onto his belly . . . and began slipping down the mountain!

“Daddy, help! Help!!!”

My heart skipped a beat . . . OK, this wasn’t really a moment of terror. He only slid a few feet, not the entire slope like the baby bear in the Facebook clip. Still, he needed my assistance. Off came my skis and I gingerly made my way to him. After helping him up and pointing him towards the top, my rescue mission turned into a comedy skit as I slipped and began my own reverse slide down the slope.

Face Your Fear

We eventually managed our way back to the top, Luciano heartily laughing at my unplanned slapstick. The next day we were exploring recently groomed slopes when he suggested Wolf’s Prey again, using a persuasion method straight from the child playbook:

“Daddy, pleeeeaaaassseeee!”

As I was debating what to do, he then used my own words against me:

“Daddy, sometimes you have to gut up and challenge yourself.”

Sigh.

I hoped for the best. We slowly skied to the top of the route and I glared at the thin, steep trail deserving diamond status.

“It’s now or never,” I rationalized, gazing down the abyss hoping to discover my character.

Luciano managed the course with minimal difficulty while my more timeworn body struggled but endured. Perhaps he was right to use my words against me. We all need to know when to admit defeat and minimize losses, but sometimes we also need to gut up. Such moments can uncover previously unknown elements of your inner self, or simply allow you to humor an enthusiastic eight-year-old.

I’m glad to know he listens . . . once in a while.