“I’d like to come up here sometime on the bus with my friends,” Jack said, giving me a sideways glance, “just, you know, us.”
We were loading up the truck after an afternoon skiing. Everyone was wet and tired and happy, full of burgers and fries from the lodge. My fourteen year-old’s tone told me he was apprehensive about breaking his news.
My first thought was how much it’s taken to get him to this place: able to gather his own gear, and load himself into the truck. Long ago there were struggles to dress both boys, expensive lessons, and bribes of hot chocolate if they would take in at least two or three runs with us on the bunny hill before calling it quits for the day.