The Sled Run

”What do you do if I yell, ‘CAR!’?” I asked James and Ian.

“We get off our sleds and stop,” they chorused back. Our sled track ran parallel to the road until it reached the bottom of the hill when the road curved to intersect it, three houses away. Although it was a quiet, residential street, people drove on it enough to justify contingency planning. Ready for any emergency, the boys sledded while I watched.

“Car!” I yelled as Ian sledded downhill. James paused before starting his run, but Ian remained on his sled, although with a slight course correction.

“CAR!” I yelled again with more urgency and began to run downhill, but Ian had the situation under control. He stayed on his sled and rammed it straight into a large oak tree. The sled stopped immediately. Ian did not. He slid forward on his sled, hitting his head on the tree before he finally stopped. I arrived as he sat up, rubbing his head.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he answered, looking slightly dazed.

“Let’s go in and have some hot chocolate,” I suggested. “It’s getting colder, and I’m tired.”

“Ian,” I said, sitting beside him as we warmed up, “Why did you run into the tree instead of just rolling off the sled?”

“I didn’t want the sled to get smashed by the car,” he answered, using the same reasoning I used when I did that same thing at his age.

“Next time,” I patiently instructed, “roll off the sled before you hit the tree. It’s easier on your noggin.” He sipped the hot chocolate. “Look,” I said, pointing out the window, “it’s snowing again.”

We sat looking out the window, drinking our hot chocolate as the snow began to cover my freshly shoveled driveway.

Bill Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.