On the way home from school the girls like to clamor over snow banks. There’s a pair at the end of each driveway we pass by, lessseeee, that would make about 150+ hills to climb and slide down. I’m sure you recognize that it takes about 10 times as long to get home in the winter than it does in the summer.
I have long learned to dress appropriately when I do the after school pick-up. We ramble home at the pace of a one-legged cat. I try to wait patiently and let them have their fun. During these “walks” I have nothing to do but think.
The sight of the snow and chunks of ice had me remembering the time I split my knee open. I think I was 8 or 9-years old.
I was tobogganing behind my school and I wiped out. I flipped right off my sled. I didn’t think anything of it, and just continued sledding. After awhile I got tired and trudged home, a distance of 3 or 4 blocks. My mother met me at the door to help me take off my snow-encrusted clothing. Underneath my snowpants I was wearing flesh-coloured tights. The snowpants came off. My mom screamed. I looked down at my leg.
Hey, it’s red. Um. Is that blood?
I am sure I would have kept calm. I felt ok, but my mother was freaking out and it frightened me. I was rushed to the hospital and got stitches. And I still have the scar to show for it.
The incident didn’t really affect how I approach tobogganing today. And I’m not one of those parents who straps a helmet on their kid (although on some hills it might actually be a good idea). Winter sports are a huge part of the snowy season here in Ottawa. And if you don’t get out and do something you’d just go crazy. I enjoy tobogganing as much as I did when I was eight, only that my old bones don’t take to it as kindly as they used to.
