It was the Christmas after I turned fourteen that my mother gave me a pair of skis. I had begged her not to. I knew that my sister wanted skis and I knew my mother, in her ultimate quest for fairness, would not be able to help herself. I knew it, and I begged, but I still woke up Christmas morning to a shiny new set of skis.
It was a fun morning. My sister and I geared up and pretended we were hitting the slopes. That winter, my mom took us on a ski trip. That was the only time I used them. Ever. I have not been skiing since.
I like to throw things.