Winter 1990, Woodbury Minnesota
I was pulling my jacket on to go fetch the mail when Beth suggested taking Dane outside with me. The day was cold, overcast, and windy, but some fresh air would still be good. We bundled him up and I learned that it was easier to put his mittens on, and then his jacket. We wrapped his red knit scarf around his face and neck, pulled his red stocking cap over his ears inside his parka hood, worked his little feet into his boots. He was so excited getting ready to go outside that I had to stop twice to hug him. There's nothing else like having your toddler wrap his strong little arms around your neck, cheek to ear.
There was fresh snow, the first in about a month, and just enough to tug Dane along on his plastic sled.
He sat quietly, feet jutting ahead, and I dragged him to the bank of mailboxes at the far end of Landau Drive. “Whee!”
Mail fetched, I let him slide alone down a very small hill, me jogging ahead toward the townhouse. Surprised, Dane smiled as the sled crunched to a halt. “Whee?” he asked, eyes bright.
“Okay, Whee!” I jogged, pulling faster along the block to the townhouse, Dane giggling.
We were having too much fun to go inside so soon, despite some new driving sleet. I dropped the mail inside the front door while Dane remained waiting on his sled. His scarf had slipped and his cheeks were brightly red. He looked uncertain. “Whee?”
“Let's go see if there's enough snow on the hill to really go whee.”
I pulled him across a windswept field where the snow was hardening to an icy crust. There was a hill between the townhomes and what was then the Western Life Insurance building. The hill faced the wind, and tall grass poked through icy snow.
“Whee?”
“I hope so, but there's not much snow on the hill, Dane.” I picked him up (gave him a hug), squatted onto the sled, squeezed him between my knees. I aimed straight down the steepest part of the hill and kicked us forward. Instantly we shot wildly downward—sleet and wind had glazed the hill slick as a bobsled track. I leaned hard left, stabbing my heel at the ice to traverse, but, unlike a slalom ski, a plastic toboggan cannot carve a turn. We barreled down straight.
The base of that hill didn’t gradually level out the way ordinary sledding hills do—it didn’t level out at all. It simply ended at the base of an opposing hill. Those two hills made a ravine at their junction to make a sort of tributary when the water wasn’t ice. It was a ravine hidden beneath the only deep snow where the wind whipping between the two hills made a crusty snowdrift like a snapshot of a big surfing wave cresting the length of the ravine.
I hoped that wave wasn't hiding big rocks or stumps, because in two seconds we were bashing through.
Dane didn’t make a move or a sound.
“Whee! Whee!” I yelled as we whooshed into the drift, and I believe Dane giggled.
My heels were hard down when we hit. We shot through the drift, a powdery explosion of crystals. The sled disappeared behind and I was still up on my heels, skimming across the ice beneath the drift like barefoot waterskiing, my toddler son clutched to my chest. I was glad I knew how to waterski barefoot. I knew: Lift one foot to spin around, go down backward, not face-first.
Snow filled my jacket, front and back. We were still and quiet, and then I stood, still squeezing Dane to my chest. I knelt and stood him up in front of me. I brushed snow from his face.
Dane’s scarf was loose around his neck, his hood was in place, but his stocking cap was pulled way back, exposing his wet rosy cheeks and forehead. “Daddy!” he said, pointing at my face, giggling.
“Do I look funny?” I could feel the snow still caked on my face, in my beard.
“Daddy.”
“Was that fun?”
“Whee,” Dane said, eyes wide, serious.
“Big whee.”
“Whee. Whee!” He nodded, pointed up the hill.
“Hug?”
Dane spread his arms, toppled forward, one boot was halfway off. I caught him into a hug and got a kiss, too. I pushed his foot back into his boot, adjusted his hat and scarf.
We knew the hill was slick, so we walked the ravine between the snowdrift and the hill, to Landau Drive, past the mailbox.
Nice memory!
So sweet!