Snow Men

On a cold winter morning in central New York State, early February 1969, a father and son are in their car just before 7:00 am. As they do most Sundays during the winter, they are on their way to a morning of skiing. It’s a long ride from their home in the Onondaga Hill area just outside Syracuse to their destination – Labrador Mountain.

The father has a steaming cup of coffee; his son, hot chocolate. They drive along the familiar route, out of their neighborhood, skirting downtown Syracuse, picking up Interstate 81 south. Gazing out the window, the son notices the landmarks they pass as they drive along; familiar, comforting, part of the routine. The conversation between the two is varied, usually beginning with talk of the hockey game the day before – the father is the coach, the son a player. This time alone in the car with his father is cherished by the son, partly for the opportunity to talk, partly for the anticipation of the activity yet to come.

They arrive at the ski hill just before 8:00 am. It’s very cold, but the sun is shining. Crowds are already forming at the lifts – side-by-side T-bars that will, in minutes begin dragging skiers up the hill. The car is parked, coats zipped tightly, and the father and son carry skies and poles across the parking lot of frozen mud toward the mountain.

It was called Dawn Patrol.

I still remember the color of the lift tickets – bright red. Dawn Patrol was the name of the half day ticket my dad would buy for us nearly very Sunday. Although I’m sure we skied in all kinds of weather, the memories I have are of sunny mornings – cold, but clear and sunny. We’d ski together, take some runs, hit the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate and warm up by one of the two large fireplaces, then go back out and ski again. We always seemed to time it just right to get our last ride up the T-Bar just before noon. We’d ski down; take our gear back to the car and drive home, arriving just in time to catch the start of the football game at 1:00 pm.

My memories of skiing with my dad are of his encouragement as he taught me to ski. In my memories, I’m already past the snowplow stage, able to ski blue runs with confidence, working on my technique.

I have no memories of just learning to ski. In recent conversations with my dad I’ve learned he did, in fact, teach me himself. There were few professional lessons.

I bring all this up because I am now trying, with MBWs help, to teach Chris and Tommy to ski. And in the course of this, I’ve learned something.

My dad was a saint.

Teaching your own kids to ski is a challenge to say the least. Just getting them dressed is an event – then schlepping them from the parking lot to the lodge, getting them to the lift, getting them to actually stand up on the skis and agreeing to a quick run or two up the rope tow would try the patience of any parent. It’s certainly trying ours.

Chris is usually game to go. He’s good about trying to do what we tell him, and he gives it a good effort. He’ll only last for a few runs before he wants to go home. But on the way home he always talks about how much fun he has and that he can’t wait to go again. He’ll get there, but it’s going to take some time.

Tommy, on the other hand, poses a greater challenge. If you’ve read this blog for awhile, you know his temperament. Need a refresher? Try this.

He refuses to wear the ‘Racer Chaser,’ the vest with a leash on the back that allows us to guide Chris down the hill, yet letting him get the feel of really skiing on his own. He’ll want to go up the lift with me one time, MBW another time, and he has to go up ahead of Chris or he won’t go at all. When he wants to go to the lodge, everyone on the mountain knows it. He refuses to listen to suggestions on how to get better.

In all of this, remember, skiing is relatively expensive, especially with kids. We have to rent gear for them every time, and even though the ski lift is free for them, the costs still add up. On top of the effort to get everyone up the mountain, ski for half an hour, fight with Tommy almost the whole time, you wonder if it’s all worth it.



Then I remember the mornings so long ago with my dad.

That’s why we’re doing this.

I want my boys to have memories like I have. Those memories are priceless. I now understand what it takes to create them. I understand what my dad went through to create them for me. I’m so grateful that he did, and I’m determined to do them for my kids as well.

My dad always wanted to give my sister and me the opportunity to participate in what he called ‘lifetime’ sports – those activities you can do you’re whole life. If Chris and/or Tommy choose to play football, basketball or other organized sports and they go through school, we’ll certainly support them as far as they want to go.

But I want them to have to opportunity to learn, at an early age, those activities they can enjoy their whole life outside of structured, competitive arenas. While I want them to have the memories I have of myself at age 9, I also want them to have the opportunity to ski as adults, with friends, as I do now – with skill, confidence and grace.

So we schlep ourselves up the mountain yet again.

That afternoon, we participated in a different winter sport.



Guess which one they enjoyed more?

It’s great to be The Family Man.