The big hill

My son's ski lessons have gone well this winter. He can snowplow to a stop, bomb the non-skier's section of the hill without falling, turn through a cone and slow down or turn to avoid running into another skier. He has increased the number of runs he makes during each lesson. And, he's still having a lot of fun.

Yesterday, the ski program's director turned to me and told me he thought my son was ready to ride up on the chairlift and ski down the big hill. "Mom's not ready," I said, but agreed we would ask my son to gauge his interest.

His eyes got wide and a hoarse "yes" came out of his mouth when asked if he wanted to ride up on the chairlift. He was paired with a "highly responsible" ski cadet "who's great with the youngest skiers."

I feigned excitement and waved him on his way. The director, who also happens to be my son's great uncle, took one look at me and said, "I can ride up behind them and ski down the hill with them. Why don't I do that."

I began talking with another parent at the bottom of the hill while I waited for my son. Engrossed in conversation, I failed to see him come down the slope on the other side of the lift then turn into the line and go back up for a second run.

I saw him on his second run. Falling several times, but all smiles, he hit the last patch of the hill -- the non-skier's section -- confidently resting his hands on his knees and snowplowing to a stop directly in front of me.