He-woe In The Snow

One thing that’s funny about snow in the south is how we will desperately try to find something to use to slide down an icy hill.  Besides the folks who buy 6 gallons of milk and 10 loaves of bread when they see a snowflake, lots of southerners will begin to search for anything that might give them a chance to take a icy, fast ride. 

Most of the time their creations fail - but, it’s usually because there’s not enough snow on the ground. Hey, even an Olympic bobsled won’t work in a dusting of snow. However, on the rare occasion when we get a few inches of the white stuff, people will pull out you-name-it; garbage can lids, pieces of laminate, a cookie sheet, inner tubes, dog beds, even a cardboard box wrapped in a garbage bag, to  joy ride down a steep, slick incline. 

Fortunately for me and my three boys,   years ago I built a nice wooden homemade sled. I even nailed a couple of flat curtain rods to the bottom, which made that sucker really fast. Most of the time it hung from a basement hook, patiently waiting for a lot of snow. 

Its time finally came during the winter storm of 1993. Heavy accumulation was forecast, which meant it was time to bring the sled down, wipe it off, and coat the runners with Turtle Wax.  

We had a perfect sledding hill behind our house - a small paved, dead-end road, about a quarter mile long.  Once the snow fell and it iced over, we made a short walk through a field, and headed to the top. It was go time.  

I was the first to hit the slope, flying halfway down, until I steered the sled off the road. It was important to avoid the second half of the run because it was a steep incline that dead-ended into what was normally a busy thoroughfare. There was almost no traffic because of the snow; still, you didn’t want to risk being hit by a car. I towed the sled back up the hill and walked halfway down, to serve as a spotter for my boys.  Matt and Jeff, my two oldest, sped down the icy incline perfectly, leaving Brad, my 8 year-old, to take the sled. 

And take it he did. Determined to better his older brothers, Brad pushed off hard and began his descent. It was clear from the beginning that he had no control of the sled, and was hurtling at a increasing rate of speed. If I didn’t stop him, he would make the second half of the slope, and undoubtedly a reach the dangerous intersection. 

Maybe it was luck, maybe a father’s instinct - whatever it was, I positioned myself directly in the line of the sled, then stepped to one side at the last second, and plucked my son off of the wooden bullet. 

Unfortunately for me, my feet slipped on the ice. To protect Brad from the impact, I held him straight out in my arms which caused me to plant my face directly onto the road. 

It happened so fast. I heard my nose crunch - it sounded like someone had  crumpled up a styrofoam cup.  An explosion of pain radiated from my face; I nearly fainted. I’ve been in a couple of fights where I got punched in the nose, and that is not a pleasant sensation. This was a hundred times worse - it felt like I had taken a shot from Mike Tyson.

Finally, I rolled into the fetal position to access the damage. I gently touched my nose and determined it was about twice it’s normal size. Surely it was broken.  Luckily, I still had all of my teeth, and none of them were loose.  Thank heavens - because I wouldn’t like to walk around looking like a cast member of Hee Haw. 

I sat up, and tried to clear my head, watching the bright red blood dripping from my nose stain the pretty white snow.  By now, all three boys were gathered around me in stunned silence.  It had happened so fast.  

Matt said, “Dad, are you ok?”

I answered with my new broken nose dialect,  “Doe! Webe gotta get tooda house dow.”

Once home, a horrified Carol said, “Oh my Lord, what happened?”

I answered, “I pell down onda woad.” 

Matt interpreted, saying, “Dad grabbed Brad off the sled to keep him from crashing and slipped down.”

A little first aid stopped the bleeding, and some ice along with a liberal dose of Tylenol dulled the pain a bit. The next day, a doctor told me the nose wasn’t broken, just badly traumatized. 

Tank gwoodness.