Paternal Hubris Beget Respiratior


View From the Top of Suicide Hill

So while I was shoveling out all the old ladies and uncovering fire hydrants after the “Blizzard of 2009” (two days ago) my wife took my child “sledding.”  That’s a pretty cool thing for a mom to do, right?  Problem is the mom took the kid to a fucking baby hill: Mansion Hill.  It’s a place where parents do more pushing and pulling in an effort to introduce children the concept of snow and sledding and gravity.  It should be called “learn to sled.”

As a father I was embarrassed that my child was trying to sled down a 5 degree slope with a bunch of toddlers and haus fraus with digital cameras.  I mean I’ve already called the kids her age at Mansion Hill “overprotected retards.”  Now my kid is a retard.  This will not stand.

So the wife had to go to work yesterday (we encourage that, believe me).  It was a snow day for the school kids.  I decided we were going to sled and conquor Suicide Hill.  I mean, it’s just a name, right?  I promised her that we were “going to have fun if it kills us” on this 100 yard run, 30 degree slope (compare sled tracks in images for scale).  Sure there is a slight possibility that you could sled into a freezing lake but those chances are slim.   What could go wrong?

We’re Now Having Dad Fun, Dammit!

I’m a gentleman and a very protective father, so I went first.  It was really fucking fun!  And scary.  And fast!  If I liked it, she’d LOVE it!  That was my reasoning in action.  I’m a logical fellow.  I figured that she’d go a whole lot slower given her tiny weight.

The first time she wiped pretty good.  But came out smiling and declared that it was her turn again.  Fine.  See?  What could go wrong?

When she crashed on her second run (see image above) at about 30 MPH in a crack-thud of white powder and immediately SCREAMED “aghh, daddy, my baaaccCCKKKK!!!” I thought I had a Christopher Reeve on my hands.  I was already scouting where the helicopter should land for medical evacuation.  Then I did the ABSOLUTELY WRONG thing and picked her up and hugged her (her new glasses filled with snow like some weird white cataracts).  This is where the paralysis happens; the pick up.  Fuck me!

I dragged her home on the sled and she complained of back pain, sobbing and hating and getting her story set for therapy twenty years from now – how her father ruined her life.  When we got home she said, “should we tell mom?”  My instinct was to not tell shit but I’ve learned after 11.5 years of marriage to tell everything early and often.  We called the mom (no assistant answering today, straight to the mom).  She grew up in central NY and was all, “yeah, you crash on sleds…can you wiggle your toes?  Then you’re OK.  Put your father on.”

I’ve been instructed to not take out only child to Suicide Hill anymore.  I figure we’ll try next year.

Later that day, the child had me take her to Mansion Hill.  I did it because it would prove she was OK.  Fuck, man…parenthood is humbling.  Retard father – retard child.  It takes a mope to grow a mope.  I was pushing and pulling as giggling moms and slobbering toddlers acted like snow was the best thing since the indoor toilet.

My child survived Suicide Hill.  She survived her father, this time.  Scared the fuck out of me though.  Today is another snow day.  And she’s milking it too.  I’m not the guilty type but she’s completely honed-into my regret over this deal and is dragging me by the dad-balls.  I gave her chocolate chip cookies for breakfast.  Makes me bring her the remote and shit like she’s some goddamn invalid now.

But, at least she isn’t.


One Response to “Paternal Hubris Beget Respiratior”

  1. john Says:

    i lol’d at the christopher walken part.

    i think of dead zone every time i see a frozen pond or some kids playing in the snow. scenes from that movie are burned into my consciousness. i guess dad homie has it too.

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