The Joys(and Perils)of Tobogganing
My very first run ended badly
When I was in Kindergarten, my two younger sisters and I did our first toboggan run together. Although we lived in Winnipeg, Canada, we had traveled to Pittsburgh, Pa. for the winter the year Dad played hockey for the Pittsburgh Hornets. We were living in an apartment with a nice snowy slope in behind and Santa left a brand new toboggan under the tree that Christmas.
It took Mom and Dad about half an hour to dress the three of us in snowsuits, mitts, boots, and scarves before we were herded out like little Michelin munchkins. Up the slope we trundled after Dad — it seemed to take forever before we reached the summit.
At the top, Dad proceeded to load us onto the toboggan. As the eldest (five years old), I was put in the front with my booted feet in and under the curved part. Sister #2 was placed behind with her legs wrapped around my waist and boots in my lap. Repeat with Sister #3 on the back. Locked together like this we were ready!
Now, Dad had set us up well before the slope started so he could give us a running push off. Remember that my father (in his late twenties) was a professional athlete in the prime of his career. I heard him take a few deep breaths and then we started to move. Faster and faster until we took off like an Olympic bobsleigh.
Oh, the thrill! We weren’t scared at all as we squealed like the little girls we were. The speed, along with the little “lift-offs” as we hit a few bumps, was the best adventure Dad had literally ever sent us on. Our scarves blew backward as we passed the other kids. Was this the moment I became a competitive sort of person?
I wanted it to go on forever. The apartment building came closer and closer as we sped forward. Mom was watching from our third-floor apartment with our baby brother but lost sight of us as we disappeared from view. Then I heard Dad yell, “Oh noooo!!”
We weren’t slowing down — and were heading straight for a basement apartment window. I was too young to have the “know-how” to tumble out with my sisters in tow, all locked together. Moments later the inevitable happened. We crashed into the window which burst into sparkly splinters.
There were a few seconds of silence — until we heard my father’s crunching footsteps running up behind us. Simultaneously, inside the apartment, the door to the room with the smashed window flew open to reveal a man and woman. A few more seconds of silence from all as the situation was assessed.
Picture this. I was actually inside the room and my sisters were still outside — their combined weight keeping the teetering toboggan from going in and over. The room I had entered was a nursery, with a crib directly below me complete with a no longer sleeping baby — covered with glass shards. The baby’s Mom and Pop were standing by the open door mouths open and briefly frozen as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.
I looked at them. They looked at me. But brief as a nanosecond. They sprang to check the baby and remove the blanket of glass pieces. Once it was clear that their darling miraculously escaped scratches and cuts — they sighed with relief as they cuddled the little one. Dad then started in with profuse apologies and offered to pay for a new window.
Once extracted from the window and toboggan, we ran up the stairs to our apartment and burst through the door yelling, “Mom! Mom! We crashed into a WINDOW!!!!”
Confused, she said, “Wait…what??” Dad sheepishly explained and then suffered one of Mom’s dirty looks.
I found out later that the couple didn’t hold Dad to his promise of paying for the window, maybe because Dad threw a few tickets to his hockey games in the pot. Apparently Dad and Pop became best buddies after that.
Undeterred by the bad ending on my first run, I continued to seek that tobogganing thrill. As teenagers, a gang of us used to seek out wooden runs in various parks in Winnipeg. As an adult, I hosted toboggan parties on the steep river bank behind my house. In fact, fifty-odd years later I have, on my bucket list, a special toboggan run I want to visit.
It’s at the Quebec City Winter Carnival where, in front of the iconic Chateau Frontenac, a century-old wooden slide stands proud overlooking the mighty St. Lawrence River. The view from the top is supposed to be amazing, especially in the magical winter paradise that is Quebec City. Speeds of up to 70 kilometers/hour can be reached — and there are no windows to slow one down at the bottom!
This article was inspired by a writing prompt in our weekly online writing group Writers on Fire, part of the Nexus Generation community.
