My oldest son, Ford, 9, has always been an affable kid, but he isn't very fast. (Dustin swears Ford has the unusual talent to run in slow motion.) Ford is slow in all endeavors, from from putting on his shoes to running to first base. Yet he has a positive attitude that rivals most motivational speakers. These traits were never more apparent than during two recent events: when Ford broke the chair lift at a local ski resort, and when he got stuck "playing the duck" (his words) in his new Sunday school class.
It was a beautiful day with plenty of sunshine and snow on the ground at Sugarloaf Ski Resort. Dustin and I looked forward to our boys' first time skiing. Except our younger children, Owen, 7, and Lindell, 3, had a strong reaction when we clipped their boots into the child-size skis. I think Lindell's exact words were, "Get these things off of me! Get these things off of me right now!" He looked like a crazy person.
While Dustin and I struggled to remove Owen and Lindell's skis, our backs were turned to Ford, so we didn't realize, until it was too late, that Ford had already started down the beginner slope. (Think Clark Griswald when he goes down the hill on a greased up sled.) When I turned around to look, Ford was screaming "Whoa" and shooting down the mountain like a bullet. Other skiers were frantically looking over their shoulder and diving out of the way.
Dustin quickly stepped into his skis and went after Ford. He caught up to him near a makeshift ski jump. "Don't go over the jump," Dustin yelled to Ford. But it was too late. Ford skied up the front of the jump and was propelled though the air off the back of it.
This should have been enough to make any 9-year-old terrified and afraid of skiing. True to Ford's character, however, he came back up the hill grinning ear to ear. I knew that he thought he was the best skier ever to go down the beginner slope at Sugarloaf.
Next it was my turn to ski with Ford. I love everything about skiing, except the chair lift. Still, I put on a brave face for my son as the basket seat scooped us up and we began a steady climb up the mountain. About halfway, I began my usual freak-out session about how and when to get off the lift. "Relax, Mom," Ford said. He had all the confidence of a pro skier. So when I finally skied out of the chair and down the small hill at the lift's exit, I thought Ford would be right behind me.
"Whew, we made it," I said. "That's my least favorite part."
Ford didn't answer. I looked behind me. He was still on the chair lift and headed the other direction, back down the hill. He was screaming. "Whoa! Whoa!" Then, when the chair was about 2-3 feet above the snow, Ford jumped out. The lift came to a halt. Fifteen minutes later, the lift was still not moving as technicians tried to fix whatever emergency stops my son had tripped. But Ford was already skiing down the hill again, oblivious to the commotion he had caused. He sped past skiers who had stopped on the slope to look up at the suspended chair lift. "Wonder who broke it?" some of them said. Meanwhile, just past them, Ford was flying off the ski jump and screaming "Whoaaaa! Whoa!"
The next day, a Sunday, we visited a new church. The boys were "the new kid" in their respective Sunday school classes, which is nothing unfamiliar to Ford. As a military dependent, Ford has moved four times in nine years. He has been "the new kid" in dozens of situations.
On the drive home from church, Dustin and I asked the boys about their classes. "It was great," Ford said, his characteristic half-moon smile and twinkling eyes brightening the rearview mirror. "Except for that part where they dressed me up like a duck."
Turns out, the kids in the class volunteered to act out parts of a play. Ford was slow to raise his hand, so he got the last pick, and by then, all of the Biblical-era robe costumes had been claimed by the other actors. Instead, the teacher offered Ford a blanket that had ducks on it. "Yeah, so I was the new kid and basically dressed up like a duck," Ford said with visible amusement. Clearly he would have been disappointed with anything less than a blanket with ducks on it. I am certain that the teachers sensed this. Ford can't wait to go back.
All of which brings to mind an old philosophy: He who hesitates gets stuck on the chair lift...or ends up dressing like a duck.
Sarah Smiley is the author of "Going Overboard: The Misadventures of a Military Wife" (Penguin/NAL) and "I'm Just Saying..." (Ballinger), and her syndicated column "Shore Duty" appears weekly in military and civilian newspapers across the country. She lives in Maine with her Navy husband and three young sons. Read more about Sarah at her website, www.SarahSmiley.com.