Growing up in Minnesota mandated that every kid have a sled to while away the winter afternoons.
My first sled was a red steel saucer.
All I remember of that saucer is how incredibly frustrating it was to go down the hill backwards (or sideways) or how heavy the sled got as I trudged up the long incline of the “big hill” (also known as the 10th Hole) at Theodore Wirth Park – and, oh, that it left nasty dings on my shins….
I won my American Eagle from the Red Owl grocery store in Robbinsdale. The store is long gone, but the sled is still in the rafters of our garage – a nostalgic reminder of the innocence of childhood.
My memory of soaring down the slopes, prostrate and prone on that maple sled, blissfully convinced that I could steer my way around any obstacle (be it a tree or a snowsuit swaddled toddler) is as crisp as a January morning in Minnesota. The sound of the steel blade runners slicing their way through the crusty top layer of the snow still echoes in my ears. The exhilarating sting and crisp chill of the snow and ice particles lashing wildly against the skin on my face (the ONLY exposed area of my body), a glorious reminder of being alive.
Ah, the blissful ignorance of kids.
It’s truly a testament to the magic of mittens or gloves (or perhaps divine intervention) that more Baby Boomers aren’t running around with mangled or missing fingers. Steel runners?!? What were our parents thinking?!?! (Actually, I’m amazed that some politically correct – but tragically misguided – group hasn’t taken up the anti-steel runner blade cause….)
While the GrowNUp in me is pleased with the brown winter that we’re currently enjoying, I hope for the sake of little kids everywhere, who will soon be visited by a Jolly Old Man bearing sleds, that snow begins to fall….