Lead and Follow

When should you lead, and when should you follow?

Moving to Alaska

When I was nine years old, my family moved from California to Alaska. I still remember telling my next door neighbor and best friend at the time, Danny Bueno, while we played Sonic the Hedgehog on his Sega Genesis, that we were moving to Alaska. He paused the game, let the controller fall, and looked at me.

"What? Alaska? You mean where the eskimos live? Why are you going there?"

I also had this picture in my mind of snow and igloos and eskimos because, well, I was nine. I didn't know what to expect. I explained to Danny that my dad was in the Air Force and that meant we had to move around a lot, and this time, my parents chose Alaska.

My family and I drove up the Al-can highway that summer and found a house in Eagle River, Alaska. Turns out that in the summer time, Alaska is pretty amazing. Even though I was a military brat and lived several different places in my formative years, when people ask me where I'm from, I say Alaska. Partly because that's where I spent the most time, and because it's literally the coolest place ever.

But what does a family of nine do in the winter time in Alaska? I had no idea. I hadn't really experienced snow before. It never snowed in California, and that's as far back as my memory went.

Learning to Ski

Turns out that back in the day, my dad, who grew up in Utah, was quite a skier. Our first winter in Alaska, he wisely decided to begin a new family tradition as we were invited to partake of the wonder and joy of skiing. I'll never forget pulling up to Hillberg, a very small ski slope on Elmendorf Air Force Base, in our 12-passenger van, gazing out the window at what we were about to experience. It was scary. I watched as people rode up the one (yes one) chair lift and then flew down the hillside. How did they not crash? How could they stay balanced and controlled? It seemed impossible.

We all got beginner skis and started on the bunny hill. My brother and I, after a few times down the bunny hill and our confidence somewhat boosted, decided that before we left, we would go down the big hill.

And we did. And it was epic. At least for us.

We spent years going to Hillberg, and only Hillberg, perfecting our skiing skills. The reality is that Hillberg is a pretty lame ski hill. It takes 3 minutes to ride up the lift and 15 seconds to fly down. This allowed us plenty of time to get creative. We would build jumps, play follow the leader, play tag, race, scoop up snow on our skis as we got on the lift, and then dump the snow on the heads of siblings or friends or strangers passing underneath. We'd steal each other's gloves and hats (nobody wore helmets...) while riding the lift and toss them on the ground, then race to be the first to pick it up. We'd even try to knock each other's skis off as we rode up, although I don't think we ever succeeded. I'm surprised we didn't fall off ourselves, we were so rambunctious and chairs back then didn't have cross bars to lower in front of you. I also eventually branched out into snowboarding. Now I could switch back and forth (Bi-skidoral?... sure why not). There was nothing else to do on such a small ski slope. But we didn't care, it was a wonderful family event that we all looked forward to.

Dad. The Boring Skier.

Most of my memories of skiing at Hillberg involve my siblings. I'm number 5 of 8, so I had plenty of siblings around me to play with. I loved growing up in a big family.

But while we were off finding ways to injure ourselves at unnecessary speeds on a bunny-hill of a ski slope, where were mom and dad?

Well my mom was also new to skiing, so my dad stuck with her of course. And there was Jarom, my little brother, who needed a little more care and attention than us older and more skilled children (Although Jarom now skis better than the rest of us ever did, and is still going strong! Guess that's what happens when you start at 3!).

The point is, I wanted to see my dad SKI. Go fast with us! Show us his master ski skills! Race and be crazy with us! But... he never did. He was perfectly content to do his slow-quick turning, controlled, 1970's style paralleled skiing, at a boring pace, sticking with mom and the younger siblings. We'd yell and wave to him while riding the lift, he would wave back and mosey on his way... Yawn. How could he possibly be having any fun?

Even when we eventually graduated to Aleyeska Resort level (an actual awesome resort in Girdwood Alaska, with double black diamonds and everything!), we would still just watch him take the green circle routes with mom and be perfectly content. I don't think I've ever seen him do a black or double black diamond.

Skiing with my kids

Since I've left home and been on my own, skiing has only become more and more expensive, and my frequency of going has been less and less over the years. But I will still try and go a few times a year. I'm decent, and can pretty much do anything on a ski slope. But my perspective has drastically changed.

Based on my own experience of learning to ski as a kid, I wanted to impart that joy upon my own children. Again, it's ridiculously expensive... so we haven't gone very much. But the last few years, I've been able to take the kids one-on-one and begin to teach them. I'm not that great of a teacher, but they seemed to pick it up pretty well on a very beginner level.

Zoe, my oldest and now nearly 12-year old daughter, has really taken a liking to it. She picked it up very fast, and has a lot of fun when we go. We mainly stay on groomed trails, veering off every now and then into some powder or trees or little jumps here and there. Circle trails, maybe some Squares. But certainly no black diamonds.

I have never had more fun skiing than I have right now, skiing with Zoe. I'll take skiing with Zoe or any of my kids, over flying down double black diamonds through the trees. Not because I can't. I probably could. But I don't want to. Yes, my skill level has probably died down over the years, and I am pushing 40 now, but even still... I'm perfectly content to ski with my kids on the easy trails. More than content. I'll do it all day long.

I have become my dad. The boring skier. And I love it.

Lead and Follow

A little over a month ago, I went skiing with Zoe. We had a wonderful time. Just me and her, chatting, making videos to show mom, and finding new trails to explore.

One of the challenges I encountered while skiing with Zoe was going back and forth between leading Zoe, or following Zoe. As we got off the lift, I would sometimes say "Ok Zoe, lead the way!" and then I would follow her. But then she would start to head a direction I didn't want her to go, or where I knew there might be something she might not be able to handle yet. She's good, but she is still a beginner skier. My instinct to protect her would kick in, and I would yell "Stop!" and then suggest a different way. I would lead the way for a few minutes, and once I could see a safe path ahead, I would say "Ok Zoe, go ahead and lead the way!" Then I would follow her. This repeated 4 or 5 times as we made our way back to the bottom of the hill. We would stop and rest and chat occasionally about which direction to go, and she usually started out leading the way. But we never made it down the mountain without me taking over at some point and leading her a different direction.

I noticed this and I decided to test myself, and Zoe. I told Zoe to lead the way and she could decide every path we took, and I would follow wherever she went. This worked for a little while, she played it pretty safe and I just followed along. We got to a point where there was some deeper powder and a few small trees, and she said "I want to go into those trees!" I had been in those trees before, they were more like bushes and I knew that as long as she was careful, she would be ok. I also knew that if she went too far into the trees, it eventually led to a steeper hill she probably didn't have the skill level to do yet.

Well, ten seconds into the deep powder and small trees, she "biffed it" as we say and ran into a small tree. One of her skis popped off and was now buried in the snow. We were on a bit of a steeper slope and I happened to stop a little bit below her and couldn't really get up to help her. I made sure she was okay, but she was struggling to find her ski. For anyone familiar with this predicament, once you do find the ski, putting it on again on a slope in deep powder, is no easy task, even for advanced skiers. Once she found her ski, I watched her struggle for about 5 minutes to put it back on. I resisted the urge to take off my skis and hike back up to help her. I just waited and watched, giving some verbal help and instructions. Eventually she got it, got herself turned around, and I followed her back over to the main trail.

What if I only ever led Zoe down the safe paths? What if I never allowed her to decide which way to go, and I protected her from all potentially dangerous terrains? What if she begs and pleads "Please dad, please can we go through the trees or in the deep powder or down a black diamond?" And I refuse. What if we only stuck to the Blue and Green easy trails because my singular concern was to keep her safe from harm?

I think that strategy leads to two outcomes. 1- She might (MIGHT!) be safer for a slightly longer period of time, only to then be completely un-prepared when she is older and out of my control and protection. Or 2- She sneaks off on her own and tries black diamonds anyways without me, ill-prepared, and increases her chances of severely injuring herself or worse.

Both of these outcomes suck. And whether I like it or not, I have to accept the fact she cannot and will not remain under my protection forever.

My only option, therefore, is to prepare her. That doesn't mean I stop protecting her cold turkey. She is still mine to protect and love and care for. I will still lead her down paths I decide for her. But every now and then, I need to be able to say "Ok Zoe, go ahead and lead the way!" Maybe I still yell "Stop!" from behind. Maybe we rest occasionally and discuss which way to go together. Maybe I let her "biff it" on a tree and struggle to get her bearings.

Maybe she deserves to be empowered and have feeling of my confidence behind her, letting her lead the way while she can still hear my voice of support and encouragement from behind.

Because soon she won't hear my voice right behind her. It will be somewhere in the back of her mind, and she may or may not decide to follow it. And there's nothing I can do about that.

The most I can do is prepare her. There is no alternative.

In the mean time, I'll happily be the boring ski dad who is perfectly content to mosey along with my kids and spend as much time as possible leading, and following, my children down whatever paths lay ahead for them.

And I'll wave to them as they ride up the lift on their own.