A Funny Adolescent Recolection

My father loves to sled. As in snow sledding. We had ice-sleds growing up--for those of you raised on the pitiful plastic disks, ice sleds have metal "blades" on the bottom which you wax so that you can go even faster!

Now, Washington doesn't get a lot of snow, but they do occasionally get a good heaping dose! And one particular year, in my troubled teens, we got a good dose, followed by sheets of ice. Everything was shut down, even the shipyard so my dad couldn't go to work. What was to be done? Sledding of course.

So we headed out, one bright morning, to this nearby street that had a massive hill that then turned right and went down another massive hill that then ended in a T intersection--turn left, go down hill again, turn right, go up hill, go straight and you're in trees, shrubs and blackberry briars.

Now, you should know that, my dad, he doesn't have the best track record with sledding and his kids. We have ALL been thrown, hurt or wounded sledding with this man. And yet, we continue to go. Why? Our judgment was probably damaged in the accidents, that or our sense of speed and competition out weighs our good sense every single time. So we go! Happily! To our snow cold dooms!

My dad, my brother and myself tramp off to this icy, steep and treacherous hill for "fun" and "good times." My dad lays down flat on the long sled and tells me to lay on his back--which I do. My brother takes the smaller sled and down we go. Wind whipping our hair and faces until tears stream down our cheeks. At the bottom of the first hill we bail off the sleds and into the snow drifts. And tramp back up the hill. After a couple of runs like this my father says, "Ok. Now why don't you kids race?"

Please know. As a child I was the single most competitive girl in the WORLD. Especially where my twin was concerned. There was no way I was going to let my ogre of a brother WIN. So after some trash talking, I get ready and we sprint and then jump down on to the sleds going at breakneck speeds down this hill. I am behind him by 3 maybe 4 inches and I know I can catch him, so I hunker even closer to the sled and see myself creeping up on him but the road is rapidly approaching that T intersection, so I being to turn to the right thinking: I can cut him off and force him to yield (I have always been an aggressive driver) and I can also slow down so that I don't have to bail off into the snow! It was brilliant!

And it really was brilliant until I hit a patch of bare pavement. You know that law of physics, the one that says, "An object in uniform motion tends to stay in uniform motion unless acted upon by a net external force"? Yeah. That one is TRUE. Want to know how I know? Metal ice sled coming into contact with pavement? Yeah. The pavement stops is cold. And I, retaining all the original force of the previous movement did not stop cold. No, no, I continued to move. In the air. ACROSS THE STREET! I flew in the air across the street until I hit a tree with my back and then rolled down 6 feet of blackberry briars.

I still have the scars to prove it.

And my brother? My dear sweet twin? He stood at the top of the hill and laughed at me. LAUGHED!!! Until he had tears in his eyes. And yes, I'm sure he did it with love too.

Needless to say, I scrambled out. Grabbed the sled. Began the long march up the hill where my dad took one look at my face and said, "Don't tell your Mother."

Can we take a moment to appreciate my dad's lack of logic at this point? My face is scratched and bleeding! My face! Where my mouth is! In the front! Presumably my mom is going to notice at some point that I am injured. But my dad, worried now about getting me and himself in trouble with mom, lovingly smears snow in my face to slow down the bleeding and sends me home. I trudge home, pride more wounded than my face (which was pretty wounded) and walk in to the house through the garage. I walked straight in to my MOM--because I am a tattle tale that's why! And my father had scarred me for life and I would never get a date and it was all his fault and yes, at 14 I was quite dramatic.

So I walked in the house and promptly burst in to tears at which point my mom started yelling, "WHATHAPPENEDTOYOURFACE???" It was about a week before Christmas, so holiday pictures would permanently mark that I too had been scarred by my father's love of sledding.

In my brother's defense it must have looked quit comical the whole flying through the air, tumbling through blackberry briars and then the scratched and bloodied sister. The story has since passed into family tradition, we all gather round and lovingly tell how Dad tried to off every one of us via sledding!