Attitude, Effort, and Six Sets of Skis

“Why does your face look like that?” he asked as he swiftly skied up beside me. 

“Like what?” I retorted.

“Like you’re angry, confused, or scared all at once?” he replied. 

It was my concentration face. I couldn’t help it. It was my ‘Don’t fall over, avoid the yellow rope drop-off bit of the hill even if your young son cuts you off again’ face… and also my ‘Do you know you’ll still have to climb stairs and make dinner even if you wreck your knee by wiping out while going too fast too soon’ face. I realize that’s a very specific face, but I’m afraid that’s the face this girl will have after a 15-year ski sabbatical. A sabbatical that had just come to an abrupt end. 

I don’t think many people can say they learned how to ski on the mountains of Minnesota. Yes, you read that correctly. I also think few people can say that they conquered their first green run because of the excellent instruction of their accountant. Of course, he wasn’t my accountant back then; he was my dear friend’s dad, the kind where you would add an uncle in front of his name just for fun. 

We skied without helmets way back then; it was the 1900s. My highly helmeted new generation of children looked confused as I explained my un-protective uniform of a bright pink snowsuit and an excessively long flowing fleece hat. 

In the early 2000s, I remember dusting off the skis and standing at the top of a way too advanced mountaintop for me. We were at Whistler, and my husband led the way. There were yet to be children to teach. He skied off quickly, and I slowly made my way behind him. I remember feeling grateful that I had learned to ski as a child so we could ski together as adults.  

Then there was the previously mentioned ski sabbatical, where I grew and raised tiny babies for all the years. Eventually, as they aged, I became the snack packer and the ski boot/sock/pole gatherer for each boy as they grew and could now go learn on the nearby mountain with their dad. 

And then, this past year, something remarkable happened… We had reached our final baby, who had suddenly morphed into a small child ready for his turn on skis.

“We have family passes for six,” he said. Our family had officially moved into a new phase of life (which I believe to be brief) where we could officially holler, “We do things together!”

Present day winter season: “Mom, you’re not as bad as we thought you would be,” he yelled into the wind as he flew past me. That’s a rich compliment. I’ll take it. Three of my boys had taken me on a green run while dear Dad was trying to teach our youngest on the bunny hill. 

The same sweet boy who had taken 18 months to learn to ride a bike was now trying to conquer skis in one morning. As in, that sweet boy who once resembled an octopus learning how to bicycle now had two skis strapped to the bottom of his feet. “Oh boy. Teaching him is harder than it was with the other guys…” my husband said as we watched our youngest fall on the hill again. 

It was a struggle for him and us (and by us, I do mean mainly his instructing father) – like picture potty training or learning how to read levels of struggle… then strap that onto skis and set it on a snowy slope. 

One of my son’s writing assignments this year was to describe a time he learned to do something new. 

His title: How I Learned to Ski

I do believe the phrase ‘fell again’ has never appeared so many times in a descriptive paragraph. 

But even though he kept falling over, his attitude and effort remained intact. Attitude and effort – I repeat that phrase to my boys less often than I probably should, but they know what I mean when I say it: as in, we will all try to have a good attitude while putting in our best effort. 

As a parent, it’s so interesting that the things you say to your children are also things that you need to hear and put into practice yourself.

We all had the opportunity to grow our attitude and effort muscles that morning as we waded through the cyclical tasks of giving instructions, watching him fall, picking him up, resetting his skis, and encouraging him to try again… all on repeat. We were semi-patiently waiting for time and repetition to do its work. 

Eventually, a kind instructor who had clearly been observing our plight took pity upon us and skied in to assist. He simply said, “How’s it going, Mom and Dad?” as he ‘stepped’ in to lend a hand. God bless him.

And then, after a few runs of that, the dear little boy on skis started to fall over less! 

By the end of the morning, he had graduated from the bunny hill and successfully ski-fallen (not a word, but should be) his way down a green run. He even dropped an “I love skiing, Mom.” 

Well. That’s a good attitude AND an excellent effort. 

We exhaled with great relief on the drive home. It would take him less than 18 months to master this new skill. 

Ironically, would you believe this year was one of the worst weather seasons for skiing we could have picked? For so many months, snow rarely fell, and hardly any runs were open, AND YET, a little boy mastered a new skill, and we still had many good mountaintop mornings, with sweeping views and glorious sunshine.

On the last few mountain trips, their favourite forest trail finally opened up – it reminded me so much of my cross-country skiing childhood days (in Ontario) but with faster bumps and higher hills. For the record, a snow-covered forest trail is one of the quietest places I’ve ever been, and you will hear me say, “Listen… this is what nothing sounds like!”

We learned the importance of bending our knees while taking the bumps, and nobody usually asks why my face looks a certain way anymore. I’ve moved into the ‘I can smile now and look semi-relaxed while doing this’ phase. Attitude and effort, friends.

My conclusion to this all? I’m so glad my parents put in the effort to make sure I learned how to ski when I was little so that I could be on the mountain to see my son put in the effort to learn to ski while he was little – all so my little family of six could have another thing to add to our ever-growing list of things we get to do together.