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20130328-191526.jpgHe doesn’t want to be a firefighter or a policeman or a teacher or a basketball player or a football player or any other player or a doctor or a lawyer or a veterinarian. He no longer wants to be a construction worker or an astronaut. Although, he does still want to go to space.

He wants to be a snowboard instructor. He had never been to the snow. He has never felt the cold, the pain of the below zero wind chill factors of my youth. He has never sloshed through a foot of snow to get to school . . . up hill both ways . . . having to shovel his own path. He has never seen snow storms or ice storms. He has never been on a sled on Art Hill where falling off is usually the best option, or only option, when the pond at the bottom is fast approaching and the sled refuses to stop.

He doesn’t know frozen toes and frozen noses and frozen everything on the bus stop where just thinking about being warm really doesn’t work, grandma. Imagine it and it will be . . . your imagination, GRANDMA.

Snow boots are a novelty to him. Snow bibs, gloves, snow goggles are exciting. He wants to be a snowboard instructor and today, for the first time, he went to the snow and he went skiing.

No fear. No anxiety. No resistance. No clinging. He put on the skis, harnessed up and came down the learners’ hill with mommy running behind him, holding the lead, making sure that he didn’t get too far away.

And then . . . “Are you sure about this mommy,” . . . he came down that hill by himself.

After lunch, he was caught staring off into the crowd of skiers and snowboarders careening down the mountain at oh-lord-I’m-going-to-die and this-is-a-piece-of-cake and what-a-blast speeds. He was watching them . . . being him . . . in a year or two.

He wants to be a snowboard instructor and today I saw him seeing himself coming down that mountain and he made we want to join him on a run.

In the future.

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