Page 14 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
Breck
This morning has been an absolute disaster and it’s only ten a.m. Getting Willow out the door was a struggle from the get-go. She didn’t want to wear fleece leggings. She didn’t want to layer a thermal top under her sweatshirt. She didn’t want to wear snow boots. She didn’t want two braids, she wanted one, and she wanted it to be just like Rory’s—which I do not know how to do.Yet. But I’m bound and determined to master braiding if it’s the last thing I do.
Sitting at the base of the magic carpet—a literal carpet conveyor belt built into the snow that will carry us up a tiny hill—Willow is pouting and grumpy. Now it’s because I told her she had to wear a helmet for this endeavor. She’s “not a baby,” apparently. I tried to explain it has nothing to do with how big she is and everything to do with not wanting her to bounce her melon off the snow if she falls.
“Bear, come on, let’s just try it. Please.” I refrain from tilting my head back and screaming into the blue sky.
“I don’t want to.” She crosses her arms and juts her lip out even farther.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. We’re both tired. Getting suited up in all our gear, walking to the lodge, and renting Willow’s equipment, all to end up here, has been utterly exhausting. Nonetheless, I bought two season passes and I’ll be damned if we don’t get some use out of them.
“I think you’ll have fun if you just try.” She rolls her eyes, and I rein in the desire to say “fuck it” and go home. “How about this? Three runs down this little hill and I’ll get you a hot chocolate.”
Bribery. The ultimate parenting hack.
She perks up at the mention of hot chocolate, finally making eye contact with me long enough to stop lobbing snowballs at my feet.
“Fine.” She huffs and reaches a hand up. Mine dwarfs hers as I pull her to stand and try not to laugh when she hops around, one foot still strapped into her board.
I have her watch me get on the magic carpet and she follows suit.Success. I think if she had fallen it would’ve been the end of this deal. We don’t get as lucky at the top where she loses her balance, but I’m able to catch her before she bites the dust—or snow.
I clip her other foot into the board and pull her goggles down over her eyes. She’s the cutest little snowboarder I’ve ever seen.Pulling my phone out of my pocket I step back and say, “Smile for Uncle Wes.”
She’s in the hot pink snow bib Rory got her, layered under her grey and pink jacket, and her pink gloves stand out on her hands. No way I’m losing her in this getup. The helmet is pink and purple tie-dye, tying the whole look together. Maybe I’ll send the picture to Rory too.
“Are you ready to do this?” I ask, hoping she’ll at least try to listen to my guidance. Wes told me to get her a lesson for her first day, but oh no, I had to be a hero and try to teach her myself. I’m already regretting that decision.
She shrugs and nods. “Sure, Dad.”
I set her up perpendicular to the slope and explain how she can push the snow in this position, like a snowplow, and it’ll keep her from going too fast. I demonstrate what I mean, then flip around to watch her attempt to do the same. Instead, she turns her board so it’s pointed straight downhill. Before she can control it, she catches her heel edge and falls flat on her back.
I cringe and brace for the tears. My girl is nothing if not a little dramatic about things like this. I race over, and her lip quivers when she looks at me. Her glance around tells me she doesn’t want to cry in public.
“You okay?”
“You didn’t tell me how to stop.” She sniffles and reaches her arms toward me so I can pull her up.
“You’re right, I didn’t. I didn’t think you’d take off like a rocket.” I tuck her braid over her shoulder. Even through the goggles I can see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs and sniffles again. I’m surprised the waterworks aren’t going in full force, but I’m not going to question it.
“Think we could try again?” I ask, and she nods. “Okay, good. Now, where did I put those brakes?” I look around like I mightfind a handle or something. She chuckles and the sound lights me up inside.
See, I’ve got this. It’s going to be okay.
A couple of hours later we’ve done tenvery slowruns down this hill and Willow’s starting to get the snowplow skill down. There’s no chance I can attempt the chair lift with her though, so I admit defeat and make a plan to get her into lessons this weekend.
I want snowboarding to be fun for her, and it won’t be if I’m grumping the whole time. We didn’t have these issues when I taught her to surf back home. Why is this different? Or is it thatwe’redifferent now—more emotional, more tightly wound?
“Okay, that’s enough for today, yeah?” I dust some snow off my pants and look at her fresh pile of lopsided snowballs. “Ready for hot chocolate?”
Willow looks up with an evil grin, grabs one, and throws it at me. It’s a direct hit to my chest and I dramatically fall to the ground with a groan.
“You got me! You’ll pay for that, ankle-biter.” I reach for some snow and ball it up, throwing it a good few inches from her feet.
“I think you owe me two hot chocolates. I did more than three runs,” she says with a snarky little smile.
“Yeah, I don’t think you need that much sugar. Why don’t I buy you some lunch instead?”
