by Brian Fleming

Created on: January 15, 2009   Last Updated: August 18, 2010

Sledding should be a joyous occasion, full of laughter and mirth; unfortunately, I never got this memo. As a child, sledding was a constant source of fear and dread during the winter season. Why? You may ask. Two words: The Hill.

Now this hill was situated right behind my childhood home. This hill wasn't your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, let's go sledding on it because it's not that tall. No, this hill was the Mount Everest of hills and my brothers, the geniuses that they were, always decided to sled on it, even though there were nice, happy, small hills around it. Now, I wouldn't mind in the slightest if my brothers went of to the Mount Everest hill and killed themselves sledding down it; however, they always carried me along, and so I did care, immensely.

So there we were, every winter, after the first snowfall, on top of the hill. One year I fashioned a song to fit this hill, it goes something like this (sung to the "On top of Old Smokey" song):

On top of the big hill

All covered in snow

My brothers and I sit

In this small death sled.

It went on to describe our plunge down the hill and our inevitable crash at the bottom, but I forget the words. Anyway, there we were, on top of the biggest hill I had ever seen in my short life.

"Ready?" My brothers asked. Why did they always ask that? They already knew the answer. My "NO!" was never heard as the descent always took my breath away. Now, I don't mean, took my breath away like a pretty lady does, but more like a an airplane plunging out of the sky.

The descent was fast and furious. I think I heard the sonic boom as we broke the sound barrier (or maybe that was the twig we ran over), at any rate, I was scared senseless. Before I had gone sledding as a kid, I never knew what the word "senseless" actually meant. But after my plunge down the hill, I knew firsthand. It's being so scared, that you know you're going to die and having a quick conversation with God that goes something like this:

"Hey God, It's me Ben. Good news, I believe in you. Bad news, I'm about to die. Can you do me a favor and spare my life please? I promise I'll go to church every single day, even if I really really don't want to."

For some reason, maybe because God has a screwy sense of humor, or maybe because he hoped I'd keep my end of the bargain, but I never died sledding down that hill. Don't get me wrong, my brothers and I always crashed at the bottom; which, over the years has resulted in two wrist fractures, four broken ribs, a concussion, and a sprained ankle. I don't think I've ever thanked my brothers for such a great childhood. Maybe I should push them down a mountain sometime, just to return the favor.

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