Early Christmas morning my sister woke me up and we tore down the steps to the living room where my parents waited, surrounded by presents. My sister squealed with delight as she opened little packages containing Polly Pockets or Barbies, but I looked intently for the one gift I wanted. I shredded green and red paper, made mincemeat of bows, and dumped the clothes, books, and other things to the side. Once I finished opening everything, I sat back, quiet, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Rodney, you didn’t look under the chair,” my dad said. I zoomed around, and there it was, badly wrapped, indicating my father had done it—a box that was just the right size.
I started ripping it open and he jumped up to join me. My mom said, “Donald, is that what I think it is? How much was it?” My dad just laughed and grabbed me and we tore into the den to set up the most advanced video-game system around.
While it might have been my present, I think my dad had bought it for himself. The two of us played video games for the next few days as the snow fell softly outside. Then one morning my mom walked in and pulled the plug on us right in the middle of a tennis match. We stood looking at her in shock.
“Donald, do you really want to spend your few days off this Christmas playing video games? Don’t you think you should finish cleaning out the basement?” My mom’s questions weren’t questions; they were orders. “And you,” she said, turning to me now, “don’t you want to go outside and play in the snow?”
Don’t you want to leave me alone? I almost blurted out, but this was my mom and even I knew better.
She continued, “I have to clean the house. We’re having the Windbaggers over for dinner.”
“Aaaaaggghhhhhh!” My dad and I whined simultaneously.
“Now, now,” she continued. “We’re new to this town, Donald. Fred and Ethel were good enough to have you and me over last month.” My dad let out a sigh. I hadn’t met them yet, but my dad groaned every time he heard their name.
“And anyway, Rodney . . .” Somehow I knew what was coming and my stomach tightened. “. . . Don’t you want to go sledding with your friends?”
Ever since the snow started falling I knew one of my parents would bring up sledding. I hated sledding. The way other kids hate going to the dentist, that’s how I feel about going to the top of some hill and zooming down a million miles an hour. My dad is a big sled and toboggan guy and had taken me years ago, but I screamed and cried the whole way down the hill. We hadn’t returned.
“I don’t know, Mom. Don’t you need help cleaning or something?”
She looked at me like I had two heads and was about to open her mouth when the doorbell rang. “Probably one of the neighbors,” she said, slightly annoyed.
I followed her to the door, adding, “And besides, none of my new friends in Garrettsville are into sledding.”
Upon opening the door we were greeted by Rishi, standing there holding a sled.
“Hey Rodney! We’re going to the Hill. Do you want to come up there with us?” he asked.
Before I could even make up some lie about chores, my mom answered for me. “Yes, he does, Rishi. Isn’t that right, Rodney?”
“Great!” Rishi shouted and came in while my mom dug out my snow clothes. The fear began pumping through my veins. I had to get out of this. Thoughts of me shooting down a large hill and crashing and busting my head open went through my mind. Even worse, what if I panicked at the top of the hill and the kids made fun of me? This would be another day of having to maintain my toughness and bravery and lies. I could feel the hand of doom reaching out and patting me on the shoulder. Actually it was Rishi.
“We can share my sled,” he suggested.
For a second I relaxed. At least with someone else to steer, I could close my eyes and hope for the best. And more important, none of the kids would discover that the great Rodney Rathbone knew nothing about turning or stopping a sled.
“Nonsense!” my father shouted as he walked up the basement steps. “I have the best sled in the world for you.”
“Cool, Mr. Rathbone,” Rishi answered.
Way to go, Dad. Why don’t you just push me off a cliff?
“Come on!” My dad led us outside. We had to run to keep up with him. Finding his ladder in the junk-filled garage, he told me to hold the bottom as he climbed the rickety steps to the storage area above. After some groans and muttering, he started to slide a long orange plastic sled down to the floor. It must have been at least six feet long. He got it down, grabbed it, and held it up for us to examine. “This, boys, is the Beast. It is the fastest, best sled I’ve ever owned, and now it’s yours.”
“Wow! That’s awesome,” Rishi exclaimed. “You’ll be the king of the Hill! Won’t you, Rodney?”
“No question about it!” my dad shouted back.
“Uh, great,” I muttered, but my dad and his favorite new son were too excited to notice my lack of enthusiasm.
“There is no sled that can match it,” my dad continued.
“Excellent! You’re going to travel at light speed, Rodney.”
“Swell.” I gulped.
Possibly sensing my hesitation, my dad added, “Don’t worry. It’s easy to steer. If you want to turn to the right, just drag your right hand a little in the snow. That will create some drag and turn you in that direction. It’s a cinch, and like I said, this sled is the best. Now get out there on that hill.” He closed the garage and bounded up the steps into the house. I watched him go, wishing I could share some of his excitement, not to mention his skill with a sled. With a downcast, worried heart, I headed off with Rishi to the Hill.