Ski trip is no croissant, but still worthwhile

In our house, a chocolate croissant is considered the perfect food — heated slightly, the chocolate warm and gooey in the flaky crust.

There was a time when none of us had ever tasted a chocolate croissant. We could have thought the word “croissant” was weird and decided not to try one, but we didn’t. We did try one and now we understand their glory.

This is the argument I use with our teen, Nikk, for trying things. Maybe the new thing could be the next chocolate croissant.

To my joy, Nikk agreed to try downhill skiing this winter. That’s how Nikk and I found ourselves at Hunter Mountain Ski Resort on a midwinter day.

“Excited or anxious?” I asked on the bus from the parking lot.

“Both,” Nikk said as they looked through the bus window at the long lifts and steep terrain, neither of which we would be visiting.

Nikk had experience on skis but they’ve been Nordic skis. We quickly learned alpine skiing was a different world. It started with the rental gear lines at the learning center. The system is quick, friendly and efficient, but we discussed the fact that we’d already be skiing if it were cross country.

It didn’t help that we couldn’t figure out how to put ski boots on. The first injury of the day nearly came from us impatiently jamming our feet into the foreign, stiff boots.

Outside on the snow, the world was a whirl of sunshine and people. Nikk started with a lesson while I trailed along.

The comical aspect of downhill skiing is that the beginners all start on the same hill. All in one spot — falling, skiing backwards and then falling, grabbing on to other skiers to stay upright and then falling. The whole spectacle.

Nikk looked good by comparison. They didn’t fall and were able to make wide turns on the beginner slope before being whisked back uphill on the “magic carpet” that brings new skiers to the top of the bunny hill.

After the lesson, we grabbed hot chocolate before hitting the slopes again. A few more bunny slope passes and Nikk agreed to try the lift for a longer run. This was what I had dreamed of. We rode the lift in the brilliant sunshine while I hoped Nikk would get a taste of a longer run on terrain that was still easy.

I skied a short way and then stopped to wait for Nikk. I’d failed to realize a large icy section was between the two of us as Nikk skied toward me. They tried to make a turn and then snowplow but couldn’t get purchase on the chattery ice and then fell hard, sliding off the slope onto the bare ground.

After a few minutes to recover and a second attempt which resulted in another fall, Nikk called it a day. I skied slowly back to the learning center as Nikk walked, carrying their gear.

“I don’t want to do this again,” Nikk said as we waited to turn in our skis.

I watched as little kids zipped around in the nearby ski school. Maybe we should have tried this sooner, when Nikk was small and fearless.

Parenting is largely second-guessing your decisions, interrupted by bouts of third-guessing and fourth-guessing them. We’d come looking for the next chocolate croissant but found something bitter instead.

I tried to generate a philosophical perspective as we turned in our gear. There was nothing good or bad in the experience; it was simply something we tried and it hadn’t worked out.

“All right,” Nikk said as we got back to the car, “maybe I’d try it again, but cross country is better.”

I had some doubts about the veracity of those words. I expect they were as much about making me feel better as they were about skiing. If it was a lie, it was a pretty good one. Because raising a skier doesn’t matter as much as raising a human that’s aware of the disappointment of others and acts to soften it.