In the December of 2006, during the Christmas break, on that fateful day, my friend and I had an ingenious idea. We wanted to go sledding.
My friend, Annie, and I cunningly persuaded my mom to bring us sledding. Taking a green saucer and a flat, foam sled, we drove to a steep hill by my house. The wind pricked my skin like needles, sending shivers down my spine. But it was worth freezing; at least for what would happen next. I hopped into the green saucer and started sledding.
The wind whistled around me. Suddenly, I realized something I had missed before. There were thorns at the bottom. But it was too late to stop. I went headfirst into the brown, prickly, unwelcoming forest of thorns. I found myself on my back, facing the brilliant blue sky framed with thorns.
As I hiked back, thorns tangled in my hair, I saw my mom, laughing at me. I scowled. Then, I had an idea.
"Hey Mom! Why don't you stand right next to the path and stop us from crashing?"
"Sure," Mom replied, still laughing.
Now, Annie and I took the foam sled. I sat in front.
"1,2,3!" We pushed off. We quickly gathered speed. As we neared the thorns, we veered off track, colliding with my mom. The sled stopped, but my mom went flying. Needless to say, my mom landed in the thorns.'
I was rolling on the ground, almost managing to laugh my head off.My mom clambered up, joining in with my laughter.
"Let's go home," she said, brushing off some thorns.
"Yeah," I managed to choke out. Annie agreed too.
Even though it did end in a prickly Christmas, this experience was and is one of my most memorable, not just because I had a good time, but also because my mom showed me that I need to learn to laugh at yourself.


