We aren’t a rich family. We don’t have the money for a fancy condominium in Steamboat or somewhere. The year was 2001 December 19th. We were staying with our uncle in Steamboat to do some skiing. I remember that fateful day, and this is exactly how it happened.
We didn’t have the money for skiing lessons, so I had to learn things the hard way. With my mother. Mom has a little arsenal of weapons of torture, but her favorite weapon against little children is the dog leash. The dog leash is used to restrain me when I ski. She will attach it on my pants and often yell things like “Turn, Turn, Turn!!” or “Stop” and the occasional “Don’t you dare go faster!” I must say, it was the worst thing ever. I would often look back to see her snickering at my pain.
To my relief my older brother had had a big crash and his equipment was spread across the mountain. While my mother grumbled and walked off to pick up some stray goggles or ski poles that belonged to my brother, I saw my chance. My mother had unhooked me from the leash, I thought. But all wasn’t perfect, My mother had suspected me to make a brake for it and had put her body guard in front of me, my uncle stood in my way.
I gestured for him to get out of the way.
He stepped aside, winked, and said while grinning from ear to ear “Get away while you still can”.
And I did, I made a beeline and shot straight down the hill. I dodged left and right to avoid getting killed. Freedom was so sweat, the wind blew in my face, I was flying. I had no one to keep me from going the fastest I could. I looked back to see the devil her self bearing down on my heels. My mother’s hair was flying and her wicked smile told me that trouble was headed my way. I followed her eyes and saw lots of people in line for the ski lift. My mother had out witted me again. She had suspected I would run and placed a trap. I knew that the only way to survive was to bail out.
Whack, bam, smash, kaboom. The pain was excruciating. Ski poles went this way, goggles flew that way, ski bent in odd ways, and legs twisted.
I looked up to see my mother’s nostrils flaring. Her eyes were on fire, I could see the blood vessels, her teeth were bared, and her face was blood red. She grinned an evil grin and held up the dog leash. She attached it on to my pants as I tried to scramble away, but it was no use.
My uncle looked up at me with sad eyes because he knew that I was doomed for eternity. While I did my time with my mother, I was thinking and concluded that parents will always beat you, and they should.
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