Winter Days

Sunday dawned clear, glorious cerulean blue above and iridescently white underfoot.

It being the first fabulous winter day in the last several weeks (fabulous being that for once we were not oppressed by severe arctic temperatures or buried in howling snowstorms) I was determined to make the most of it. Zack and I called one of his friends and decided to hit the slopes for some sledding.

On our trek over to the local outdoor skating rink over the holidays, Zack and I had spotted a terrific sled hill bordering the park. Bereft of trees and ending in the flat, tabletop expanse of a playing field, this was, for all intents and purposes, a great sled hill.

It was high enough to offer a good run, but shallow enough that smaller kids could labor up the slope without ending up exhausted by the effort (or worse, forcing their fathers to carrry them up the snow-covered slope. Note this fact as one of those things that Dad's should be aware of ahead of time when selecting sledding hills.) and wide enough that the hill wasn't turned to slick ice by the constant sliding.

We parked the car at the ice rink and trekked across the field to the base of the hill, Zachery and his friend Colin racing ahead madly while I trudged along behind towing both sleds. Colin's sled was one of those fancy steerable "ski"-style sleds, with two skis supporting a raised seat and a third movable ski affixed to a steering wheel in front, not unlike a wheelless motercycle. For some reason this thing always gave me pause. It was all to easy to imagine a ski edge catching and Zack or his friend getting flung clean over the horizon. When I was growing up, the fanciest sled anyone in my neighbourhood had was a single flat sheet of hard plastic with a couple of handgrips, or an old wooden traditional, with that precarious and dangerous curved scoop at the front that invariably caught your feet when you flipped it or tumbled off in a welter of snow...

Colin's sled seemd stable enough and he flung himself down the slope without incident. At Zack's insistance, I clambered into our short plastic sled and Zack settled down in front of me. This sled was far too small for someone of my size, so my legs hung out the front. It wasn't a bad size for Zack alone but, as I've mentioned before, he tends to be a bit of a fuddie-duddie at times and he flatly refused to ride without me.

We started down the hill, picking up speed as we went. Just after the bottom of the hill however we slammed into a slight dip in the slope. The impact sent me sliding forward on the sled, in turn sending Zachery flying off into the snow. We sat up and I checked on Zack. He was fine but bitterly complained that I had knocked him off and landed on his legs - on purpose of course. For some reason kids seem to think that parents always inconvenience them on purpose. I think it makes them feel more secure, to know that it is Daddy's fault rather than gravity or a too-small-sled.

After our first spill Zack refused to hop on the sled again, contenting himself with sliding slowly down the hill on his tummy, flapping his arms to move himself along as his winter coat was stubbornly frictive. I tried several times to coax him back onto the sled but eventually gave up when he started to self-consciously well-up with tears. This was supposed to be fun.

Eventually Zack and Colin began to roll down the hill instead, laughing uproariously. I watched them, chased them and basically made a complete and utter fool of myself by pretending to fall down the hill, fall off the sled and generally act silly. I was in good company. The hill was filled with parents and their kids taking advantage of the brilliant sunshine that was gilding the new fallen snow.

I watched as the parents next to me loaded their two small children onto two sleds and sent them down the hill. Both kids' sleds veered wildly off the flat track the parents had aimed them at, straight into a couple of small jumps someone had constructed at the bottom. Both kids sailed through the air and landed in a flurry of snow. The mother headed down the hill cooing sympathetically while the father, standing beside me slapped his forehead and grinned in exasperation and said "How they manage to hit the only bump on the hill every single time is beyond me...."

But the kids were already on their way back up.

Zack and Colin and I slid, rolled and trudged down the hill one last time, and then headed back to the car for hot chocolate and marshmellows. As I crunched through the snow, sleds in tow and chattering kids hanging on the back of them, I could smell that cold, clean scent that hangs in the air on sunny winter days and feel the glare of the snow and the beckoning sky.

There is nothing like a winter's day.

Comments are always welcome. You can reach me at dadchronicles(at)hotmail.com.