Part 2: The Hill, The Cow Pies, and The Splinter

Every now and then, my wife calls me her "Fourth Child." (Well, that would soon be her "Fifth Child.") I must say that I proudly inherit that characteristic from my father. Though he was brilliant at his profession, loved working on cars, and was the glue that held our family together, in his heart he was a constant age of seven.

Time after time, you could find my father playing practical jokes on people. He would make sure he played every single game he could at each picnic that we had. And lastly, he was the most skilled artist at acting goofy that I had ever seen. (My Father-In-Law, and Brother-In-Law come in a close second.) A day spent with my father was never a dull day.

As I said in my previous post, we lived near a hill known as "The Monster Hill." An awesome hill for sled riding, this hill invited many a child, and young adult to try to master it's descent. Now, to master this hill, some individuals came up with every type of sled imaginable. They would use your basic runner sled, plastic sleds, inner tubes, and even the trunks of cars. (I honestly do not know how these people pulled car trunks up that hill, but I witnessed it, and was completely amazed.)

On his way home from work one winter's day, driving down Lovett Road, my dad noticed something in the field that someone had left after sledding. He pulled the car over to investigate. What he came home that day with an eight foot wooden toboggan. It had seen better days, and needed some work, but my dad was determined to get it up and running for this coming weekend. (We were in for some snow on Friday, and were already planning our sledding trip.)

Each snow as a child is magical. It is almost like Christmas morning when you wake up, and run to the window to see what came for you. Well, thank God, this time the reports were not wrong. ( If I remember right, the snow was deep enough to cover up my shiny sliver moon boots!) My dad was already in the kitchen making breakfast, and was telling me to get on the phone to call some friends over to go sledding. The toboggan was ready, and he wanted to use it. So, on the phone I was, and right after breakfast we were in the car driving to pick up four of my friends. (My father loved to drive in the snow! He would fishtail the car, and do doughnuts ever chance he could!)

All bundled up, looking like Randy from "A Christmas Story", ("I can't put my arms down!"), we walked up the hill with our variety of sleds. My dad stood at the bottom with the toboggan waiting for the final run of the day. He loved, and enjoyed, rating our wrecks! "That one deserves a 6!" he would yell at us as we tried to gather our senses after each wipe out.

As I said before, you can only go down this hill a couple of times before you are completely physically exhausted. We were ready for our last run, the run that would forever become known as "The Toboggan Runs, of All Toboggan Runs!"

My dad pulled the toboggan up the hill, to the top. My four friends and myself all jumped on, and my dad jumped on the back. As I also stated before, during the spring, summer, and fall, this field was used as a cow pasture by a local farmer. The cow pies that were dropped in those warm days, soon froze to become large brown rocks in the winter. During this day, and this was a lucky one, no one had come across any of these hidden land mines.

We started down the hill, and already we were picking up some great speed. The front end of the toboggan was slicing through the snow, and throwing it up in a wall of white. We were driving blind! We all just ducked our heads, and prayed for our lives. Most of my friends were now screaming in terror, and were wanting to stop this monster of a sled from racing down the hill. My dad, on the other hand, was laughing uncontrollably. His trademark "Goose laugh" echoed through the hills of Bentleyville.

I am not sure how far we made it down before we hit the daddy of all cow pies. This cow pie was so huge, that the cow who dropped it must of been saving it for a month. It felt as if we slammed into a boulder. The first thing that we heard was the sound. It sounded as if a gun had gone off right beside your ear. (My ears actually were ringing when this whole event was over!) Well, that sound was the wooden toboggan, that my dad had worked so hard on, splintering into a million different pieces.

Since there was no longer a sled beneath us, we started rolling, tumbling, flying, and screaming down the hill. Snow, then sky. Snow, then sky. This was the pattern that I kept seeing as I continued down the hill. The sounds of my friends tumbling, and screaming filled my ears next. It seemed as if we were falling down a bottomless hill.

Finally, I came to a stop. After laying in the snow for a couple of minutes to make sure I was still in one piece, I sat up and looked up the hill. What I saw was an amazing site! It looked as if we were in a war zone. Bodies, and pieces of wood, were strewn across the face of the hill. It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen! There were no pieces left of the sled that were bigger than six inches.

Slowly, my friends started to get up, and see the carnage for themselves. I counted to make sure I had all four friends with me, and we started to picked up our hats, and gloves that were knocked off. We started to tell each other all about our point of view of the wreck, and to show each other our battle scars. (Arnie actually went air born this time instead of the sled!)

None of us had any major injuries, thank God! I started to pick up my inner-tube when I noticed my father hopping around, and the bottom of the hill like a mad man. I guess because he had more weight, and momentum, that he made it all the way to the bottom. We all though that he was jumping around because he was excited about the wreck! (We thought that he scored himself a 10 on his scale.) So, halfway up the hill we all started jumping and screaming also in celebration! "We got a 10!" we all yelled!

We all ran down the rest of the hill to my dad, and then realized he was not doing some sort of weird celebration dance. He was actually hopping around yelling because he had one of those six inch pieces of toboggan sticking out of his left butt cheek! Our cheering soon turned to concern, and then to laughter. "It's not funny!" he yelled. "My butt has a piece of wood in it!" That was when we all fell down laughing harder.

Well, this was the day when I first got to drive a car. My dad laid in the back seat, face down , and butt in the air. My friends all bunched in the front seat with me, on the bench seat. Yelling out directions on how to make it home, my dad was my first "Back Seat Driver."

When we got home, my dad ran into the house to show my mom his "Sledding Injury." Hating hospitals, my father pulled the splinter out, put about ten Star Wars band-aids on his bum, and complained the entire time at dinner. (I guess it wasn't as bad as it looked!) Sitting crooked, with all of his weight on his right butt cheek, my dad talked about the day. Thinking that he was going to retire from sledding, I was waiting for the phrase of , "I'll never do that again!" But knowing my father, I should of know what he would say next. "You know, next time, I'll have to make some bigger supports for that toboggan. Then we will make it down that hill!" ("It will probably take him 10 years to put the thing back together!" my friend Dave leaned over and whispered in my ear.) There really was nothing left of that sled.

As I think back on this great time now, I sit and laugh to myself. I also realize now I had a great life lesson from this. Without really knowing it, my father had taught me something really special. What he taught me was that whatever poop is laid in your path, get back on that sled, and make it a great ride!