startin’ ‘em young

While I want my progeny to be independent thinkers, to have strong opinions, to make their own way in the world, I would be lying if I told you I didn’t care if they hated what I love or loved what I hated.

I care.

For example, it pains me that none of my kids loves Radiohead. And I am gratified way out of proportion that, when Kim and I took Holden for a mountain bike ride a few months ago in Corner Canyon, Holden delayed us a few minutes because he was searching his room for just the right pair of plaid shorts.

(Note that the shorts do not appear in this picture, but trust me, he’s wearing them.)

So. So how happy does it make me that Holden, who is 12, has been pestering me non-stop to take him backcountry skiing for about 2 years?

Very happy, that’s how happy.

Saturday, the avy conditions were about as safe as they can get, and while there wasn’t any super fluffy pow pow to shred on a raging dawn patrol, there was plenty of soft creamy snow on sheltered north facing stuff.

So out we went.

Yes, we were beeping.

It was warm. And we didn’t bring water. As Holden has reminded me of once or twice:

He found a granola bar in the back he borrowed from Kim. “Thanks Mom!”

Evidence that I was there:

And, skiing:

He killed it, especially considering that he was using old skis that were about 35 cm longer than his usual skis, and the snow was a bit on the manky side.

He even worked it in the trees on the exits:

He liked it.

Next up—musical indoctrination. I’ll start by loading his ipod myself for the next BC outing.

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