The Ski Family
Mountain Creek Ski Mountain – Ski lift line
We wait on line. With me are my wife, Lauren, and our two children, Liz (8) and Matt (6). In front of us, are two teenage boys who have their masks pulled down below their chin and (I couldn’t make this up if I tried) they are trying to blow the cold air that is coming out of their mouths onto each other for fun.
“Daddy, why are their masks pulled down?”
As Matt has no ability to alter the volume of his voice so that others won’t hear him, the two kids look back at us.
“Well, you see the top of their heads,” I ask Matt loudly so they can hear me.
“Yes.”
“What aren’t they wearing on their heads?”
“Helmets.”
“Very good. When you don’t wear a helmet, you sometimes hit your head and it makes your brain stop working.”
I look up at the teenagers who quickly raise their masks over their noses.
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Skiing history
I didn’t grow up in a skiing family. Or is it “ski family”? I don’t even know the proper terminology. I had a friend who went regularly with his family to a house in Vermont, and I always thought they were strange. He invited me once. I declined, as I had just seen the movie Alive about a plane crash in the mountains, and I was convinced that, like in the movie, we would be stranded and they would eat me for lunch.
When I was 19, my girlfriend at the time, who also happened to be named Lauren, invited me to Aspen with her family.1 <———- CLICK ON RED BOXES
I accepted as I was not stupid. You get invited to Aspen, you go.
When we arrived, her father asked me about my ski level. I admitted I had never skied before. He rolled his eyes at his daughter’s pathetic choice of boyfriend, and then proceeded to place me in ski school with the 7-year-olds.
After I met Lauren (the current one)2, we went skiing a few times with my friend and his girlfriend (who I swear was named Lauren too. 🤣). She was a serious skier and helped Lauren and me get better. It was fun and we expected this to continue each winter with this couple.
Then one weekend, we went with them to Vermont and I went off for the day with him while Lauren hung out with Lauren. Anyway, his Lauren told my Lauren she was so excited for them to get engaged, and expected it to happen soon. On the same day, he decided to tell me, while we were on a ski lift, he had just come to realize he was gay.
And so that was the end of their relationship and our ski trips with that Lauren and her extensive skiing knowledge. (Note: I was happy for him when he told me. It was just jarring to hear Lauren tell me that night about this girl’s future plans for marriage on the same day as his revelation to me. As for her, maybe I’ll see her on my Lauren-filtered dating website in a few years.)
We didn’t ski much for years after that, as we were busy making children and avoiding the cold weather. Two winters ago, a friend told us how much fun his family had snowtubing. So one weekend we took a trip. I even wrote a blog about it. (I’d provide the link but I stole at least 7 jokes from it for this piece) In sum, snowtubing is what people do when they don’t ski yet. It’s like a gateway drug to skiing.
Last February, we took the kids to Camelback Resort which has Aquatopia Indoor Water Park. We went into a giant hot tub with hundreds of people where you go underwater and come out in a hot tub outside in 30 degree weather.3
The next day we put Liz and Matt in ski school. It was uneventful. They weren’t great. They kind of hated it actually, like kids hate every activity you spend money on and force them to do against their will.
Present Day – Skiing ticket window
“Remember if they ask you, how old are you guys again?”
“We’re five,” Liz responds.
“What do you think, Lauren?” Does five-and-a-half sound better?”
“They’re clearly going to need therapy anyway with you as their father, but why are you trying to speed it up?”
“It’s a victimless crime.”
“Literally, everything you do wrong that isn’t murder you use that excuse.”
“We’re twins, right?” Matt asks.
“Very good. Someone has been listening.”
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Unfortunately, everything was cancelled this winter: indoor sports, dinners out, and birthday parties (Okay, I’m fine with no birthday parties forever.)
That left us with two choices: stay home and pick our noses, or find an outdoor winter sport and pick our noses outdoors. Ice skating was out because it’s impossible. I will not be considering any arguments to the contrary.
Over Christmas break, we signed the kids up locally for a skiing lesson. We watched. Somehow, they were immediately good, as if the year of complete atrophy had bestowed a superpower upon them. Actually, we expected Liz would get decent after a few tries, as she is a good athlete. Matt, though, is younger and has some medical issues which restrict him physically. Yet he also took to it quickly.
The following weekend, they were even better. It kind of makes sense. They’re lower to the ground, which helps. Plus, they’re also missing the other thing which holds people back in skiing: Fear.
Soon after, we took them on the chair lift for the first time, and on their first runs down Green and even Blue-rated trails.
Since then, we haven’t stopped. Every weekend, we’ve gone to a new mountain and skied the days and nights away.
Sure, there are hiccups. Before we leave, we get the customary warning from both sets of grandparents:
Getting the equipment on the kids is a 30 minute affair which involves crying, threats involving their iPads and a garbage dump, and eventually bribes of sugar:
There’s also that issue with paying for them. One place is easy as kids under 46 inches ski for free. Both kids are about that height, so on weeks we ski there we simply restrict their diet. Another place we like is a bit trickier as kids under age 6 ski free; hence, my slight massaging of the truth.4
Then, when we get out there, the lines for the lift are long and we don’t always feel comfortable with the many geniuses who still don’t wear their masks.
Getting on and off the lift is also terrifying with children. Picture jumping out of a moving car with your child next to you, and you’re jumping onto ice.
But all that work–packing the car, getting on the equipment, taking a second mortgage out to pay for lift tickets, carrying your own and the kids’ equipment to the lift, waiting on line with filthy people–is all worth it when you’re at the top, ready to go down a mountain together.
Unlike Matt, who doesn’t believe in doing “pizza” with his skis (where you put the skis together like a wedge to slow yourself down) and only does “French Fry” with his skis parallel which causes him to fly down the mountain at 100 mph, I’ve always been fairly risk averse. Yet after this past year, I’ve said fuck it. The world appears to be fucked. I might as well enjoy myself and have a blast with my kids. Getting an adrenaline rush is more important to us now after a year filled with zero fun rushes whatsoever.
Most importantly, my family now identifies as a “Ski Family”, and we would like to be portrayed in the community as such.
Until it gets warm out. Then I will gladly leave behind all this freezing nonsense.
