Little Ripper

Me (picking up the pieces of a minor yardsale): You didn’t turn. At all. You just skied straight down the hill until you crashed.

My daughter (a bit grumpily): But going straight down the hill is way faster dad!

Me: Oh dear.

That she likes to say that she will be the next the Lindsey Vonn (Yes, she really does say that) should have been a red flag.

But instead, I’m grinning from ear to ear.

She’s got the ski-bug.

Nonetheless, we put aside any Super-G aspirations and spent the rest of the day practicing deliberate, exaggerated turns.

And now, she’s bragging about making perfect turns.

The best part  of the day was that I had to actually ski just to keep up. Instead of skiing backwards and coaching her down the hill, I was yelling unheard advice from behind while she zipped down the hill giggling. I’d catch her, ski ahead and stop, expecting her to do the same. Instead, she’d ski right by with a wave and laugh. “Come on dad!”

I had better apologize to my ski touring buddies in advance. You won’t be seeing much of me the rest of this season.

I’ve got a new ski partner.