Once we reach
that age where supposed to be mature, clear thinking adults, a truly enjoyable
part of life is somehow sucked out of us. We dismiss goofball fun as childish
and beneath us.
And that’s too
bad. Because what’s the point of life if you’re not having at least some fun?
As I sit in my house with the outside temperatures hovering around -10 I think
back to just a few years ago. (Now that I think about it, it was 20 years ago)
Time flies so fast!
Anyway, my
brother, the infamous Beerculees, came up from the Bronx for a visit and we
decided to take my daughter sledding. At the time the nearby golf course was
allowing the locals to sled on their property (which had a surprising amount of
hills for a golf course.)
When we arrived
the place was packed. It was perfect day for sledding. So my brother and I
watched and caught up as my daughter and her friends had fun in the snow.
But as we
watched we heard shouts and shrieks and raucous laughter coming from behind the
adjacent hill. Once my daughter had enough of sledding and was cold enough to
want to call it a day, I took her hand and her little pink plastic sled and
started toward the car.
That’s when I
heard the shouts and shrieks and laughter again and just HAD to find out what
was going on.
So we made the
trek over the hill and there I saw the most jaw-dropping slope I had ever
witnessed from the top side. I looked at what I imagined the top of an Olympic ski
jump looked like. And to top it off, half way down the snow curved upward
forming an actual ramp that jettisoned the sledder into the air.
My daughter
immediate asked me if she could sled down it. (she was always fearless, still
is) I looked around and saw most of the sledders were adults although there
were a few kids my daughter’s age in the mix.
I’m not a big
fan of heights but I needed to try it myself before letting my daughter try.
So I got into
her little pink sled with my brother looking at me as if I lost my mind and,
after taking a deep breath, told my brother to give me a push.
“You sure you
want to do this, Bro?” he asked eyeing me carefully.
“I’ll do it!” my
daughter chirped enthusiastically.
I turned to my
brother and said. “Wish me luck.”
So he did and
gave me a shove.
DEAR LORD! To
this very day I have never experienced anything like it. I felt like I had been
shot out of a cannon and when I hit that ramp I took off into the air like an F-18
fighter jet.
With my hands
tightly gripping the edges of that little pink sled I finally touched down and
slowly came to a stop.
It was
fantastic!
No way in hell
was I going to let my little daughter do it.
When I got back
to the top of the hill, Beerculees grabbed the little pink sled and quick took
off down the hill. My daughter was talking with a school friend who was about
to make her first trip down.
Now I had a
problem. If her school friend was allowed to do it why wouldn’t I let her? On
the ride home there would be wailing and gnashing of teeth and a silent
treatment that would go on for weeks.
Just then,
Beerculees rockets into the air with a rebel yell, apparently having the time
of his life.
“I’m going next!”
she said as her friend started down the hill.
As my brother trodded back and I pondered my next move my daughter’s friend hit the ramp at the wrong angle. The sled flipped and the girl crashed into the packed snow shoulder first.
I can still remember
her scream.
An ambulance was
called and the girl was taken to the hospital. She had a broken arm and
collarbone.
Her parents sued
the golf course (the bastards) and consequently all sledding there was
prohibited.
Which is a shame
because I still have that little pink sled in my garage and after looking at
all the snow outside I know exactly where I’d like to go with it.
