He'd carved these slopes during his college days and couldn't wait to one day take the rest of us there with him. We looked at the calendar, cobbled together three days when everyone was off, hit the road early on a Sunday morning, and were swooping the slopes by that afternoon.
After getting the feel for the map of the mountain (which the boys had excitedly printed from the website days before, folded into their pockets and, in spare moments, studied as if they'd be quizzed), we left behind the idea of staying together, and off we went, each toward his own pace and direction - some boys on this run, another boy on that one, the parents swinging up on the chairlift together, alone.
We looked at each other, he and I, and we marveled that, after years of close-proximity parenting, BOOM, here we were at this Later, boys! stage. But for lack of champagne and flutes, we'd have proposed each other a toast.
We'd packed a deep cooler with food for one day's lunch, and in a hands-down loaves & fishes miracle, it fed us for two - drinks, fruit, and some of the best sandwiches I've ever made, or so said one boy who was gastronomically moved enough to declare it so. They were a riff on our favorite sandwich from a deli back home, the Roast Beef Blue, and at the bottom of the ski hill, in the warm early spring sun, with these chips on the side, they blew our minds. (You must give them a go: mayo or ranch dressing, shaved roast beef, romaine, red onion, and blue cheese between two slices of locally baked bread.)
In a providentially guided parenting move, we fed our hungry, pointed to an adventure, and stepped aside.
These boys. One with hazel eyes, blonde curls, and a voice that comes from a deep, mysterious place; one stout with determination, fiery black eyes, and dark hair and tanned skin to match; and the other with hair in chocolate waves and soft brown eyes that pop with laughter, they were all there.
No screens, no phones; just boys, plying their might on a mountainside.
Never mind that two out of the three had never been to a ski hill before. Never mind the learning curve. Never mind that we had only a single day and a half to put skis to slopes. Never mind that soon spring would break and draw water from sagging snow, leaving naked, rugged runs behind. Never mind that.
This moment, this ride, this run, was meant to fully live. They did it. They lived it, instinctively diving deep, scooping the moments for their worth.
This one, the next one, and the one following that.
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