I know, you have memories. The hot tub party in Aspen, that German stranger you met après ski in Lake Tahoe, the sound of powder hitting your skis as you schussed down Rattler in Deer Valley. Forget them. That is not your life anymore. You are skiing with children now, and skiing with children is not skiing.
It is Spring Break, and I have two boys, and I have taken them skiing. It is a chance for me to show them how much I love them. Next year, I will give them iTunes gift cards.
Skiing with children is having to buckle six boots instead of two, having to dress three times instead of one, and having to listen to "Dad, my face is freezing" as you ride up the chairlift and try to remember what was so great about breathing fresh air. It is lost gloves and goggles and sunburn.
You are no longer on your own, looking down a run and planning your next turn. Now, you are following your little ones as they tumble and fall, skis flying into the air. Will little Benny slam into that big rock? Will young Mason slide over that cliff? You have put time and money into these kids; dentists, doctors, music lessons, tutors. Now, they are on rented equipment, and you have sent them barreling down a mountain, risking injury and paralysis and death. You are not skiing. You are contemplating your ability to fulfill your most basic obligation: to keep your children alive.
My father took me skiing on trips like these, and now I have become him. As the children ski, I yell behind them and drive them insane. "Shift your weight! Plant your poles! Bend your knees!" Useless. My 10-year-old asks me to be quiet so he can enjoy skiing. I remember being 10, and I respect his request.
Your evenings were once filled with great restaurants and walks around quaint little ski towns, the snow falling around you. Now you are in a family-friendly hotel, listening to the screams of children who are not yours in neighboring rooms, with your kids begging you to get a pizza delivered, because they are tired and want to go on their phones and play Clash of Clans. When you tell them to put down their phones so you can spend time together, the braver one tells you, "We just spent seven hours skiing. Wasn't that enough?"
So, why will you do this? Why have I done this? I have done this because my children are smart and beautiful and special and deserve the best. Your children might not be so. For you and them, I recommend Hawaii.
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