What difference does 35 years make? Not much, when it comes to my emotional maturity. A whole lot, apparently, when it comes to my style on the ski slopes.
Last night I took my eight-year-old son to Hyland Ski for a few hours on the snowy slopes. We were both dressed for an Antarctic expedition, even with the temps topping 30 degrees and prompting thoughts of spring. My dirt-colored Columbia cap covered my girl parts – you know, my long hair and drawn-on eyebrows. My ski pants and coat? Also dirt-colored, with panels of black and white. My skiing? Not showy, let’s just say that. I snowplowed behind my son to make sure he didn’t careen into the trees as he tried to keep up with his more experienced buddies.
Flash back to 1978. What color was my hat? Hat? What hat? I wasn’t about to cover my blondie-locks, no matter how blustery the weather. Back then, I was considered a “ski bunny”. My goal on the slopes? Attract boys and show off my skiing, in that order. When I lost a contact, I wouldn’t wear my glasses, oh no. I just navigated with one eye spying the shadow-inducing moguls. Scary, huh? And my outfits were colorful, because color mattered. I recall having a crush on both Greenie from North Branch and Big Red from Cambridge until I learned their real names, then found out how much they liked my ski bunny friend. (Hi Kris! Can’t believe you’re a grandma!)
Okay, not everything changed from that groovy decade that spawned That 70s Show. I still felt an un-mom-like euphoria when I bombed the hill with a bunch of eight-year-olds and beat them to the bottom. (Didn’t really matter that I outweigh them by a 100 pounds, making the real cause of my victory not skill, but gravity.) I also hit a few jumps like I did in the old days, the only difference being that it used to be on purpose.
But in the end – despite knees complaining about having to bend for several hours while enduring the equivalent of speed bumps, eyes the color of Big Red’s ski jacket, neck warmer glistening with snotsicles – I went home with the cutest boy in the world. Wouldn’t trade places with my younger snow bunny self for all the Alleve in the world!