Little Billy learned to snow ski when he was five years old.
That year, we went to Red River, NM to ski. Little Billy got pretty good, really fast. And ... he was fast. He was, aside from me, the only one in our family skiing fast. My husband, Courtney and Chloe had also just learned how to ski and were not so fast or capable yet, so it was left up to me to try to, not only keep an on those three, but keep up with Little Billy as well. And he was not happy waiting on me.
We would go up the ski lift to the top of the mountain, the five of us, get off the lift and Little Billy would immediately take his position in our family line at the top of the slope, as if he was actually going to ski with the rest of his family. But then ... he would (all three feet of him) suddenly bend at the waist, lean over with his orange Mohawk ski cap aimed down the hill, tuck his stubby ski poles under his stubby little arms, take the stance of a professional ski racer and ... he was gone! Down the hill, miles ahead of the rest of us, as fast and in as straight a line as he could go, since that allowed for the greatest amount of speed. Me ... I'm still at the top of the slope screaming (because he's only 5), "Little Billy - slow down! Wait for me! Ski back and forth! You're gonna' fall and kill yourself goin' that fast! Back and forth, back and forth," I'd be screaming, as I would abandon the rest of my family to follow after my five year old ski devil.
Sometimes he'd be skiing along and he'd say, "Watch this Mom," and he'd head straight towards a small hill, fly up into the air in a hunched position, land successfully on the other side and turn back at me and smile a big ol' smile. Other times, he would say, "Watch this," and suddenly he'd veer off the slope into the woods (on no apparent path), swerve in and out of the trees (me watching only a vague orange speck moving way too fast through the forest) and then come out somewhere down below me, emerging out of the woods most confidently.
If you have ever skied, you know that it is best if you follow the markers to keep you on the slopes that are appropriate for your level of skiing (ie: green for beginners, blue for intermediate and black for very experienced - we stayed mostly on the green). Little Billy was unaware of these signs and only turned - to stay on our paths - when he would hear me yell, "Turn Billy! Turn!" and then he would suddenly make a very dangerous right turn onto the correct path.
This worked most of the time. When it did not, I would become furious because he would ski so fast and so far ahead of me, sometimes he would go beyond the path too far before I could tell him to turn and then he would come to an abrupt stop. He would always smile at the very dirty look I would give him. He would then have to sit down, take off his skies and either walk up the hill to the green path turn-off or, more commonly, I would have to go to where he was and take off his and my skies and carry both sets back up the hill, sometimes quite a ways, to the turn off path.
And ... you know I was not doing this in silence. I was telling him, "If I have told you once, I have told you a million times ... to slow down. If you would just listen to me, we wouldn't be in this situation. I'm too old to be hauling two sets of skies up any hill in this altitude, simply because you refuse to listen to me." He stayed silent, mostly.
Once, when this mishap occurred one too many times and Little Billy missed this turn-off up ahead, I was screaming, "I told you to slow down! You are just gonna' have to walk up here. I am not coming down there again to help you." About this time, there was this boy riding the ski lift, just above our heads, that I heard say, "Gosh, what a mean mom. Look, he's stuck down there." I looked up at that boy, moving away from me swiftly on the ski lift and screamed, "You don't know how many times he has done this," and then decided that my complaints were surly falling on deaf ears and shut up.
I am certainly not a perfect mom and I am certainly not the best mom, but ... that boy on the ski lift was wrong when he said I was a mean mom.
If he only knew how many miles I have actually skied over the past five years, to keep up with that darling little boy in that Mohawk ski cap, he might just see things differently. If he really understood how difficult a thing this is for a woman of my age, he might just understand such a mother expressing her fatigue and frustration in a moment of harsh words. If he only knew how far I have actually let out the slack on the invisible line that I have attached to that little boy, in order to let him go out into the world, feel the wind in his face and soar as fast as he can ... down a mountain (against my better judgement) ... then maybe he would know.
I was out-voted this year (by my husband) and we were not able to take our regular Christmas ski trip, as he didn't feel as though he could get away from work. I am not happy.
On the upside ... I will be a little older when we are able to go skiing again and that is obviously not good, except that ... it gives me that much more time (between now and then) to work up the stamina to ... try to keep up with my dare-devil son.