This past weekend, we experienced our first snowfall of the season, and my home was buzzing with excitement over our new puppy. There was talk of building snowmen, sledding, and indulging in steaming hot cocoa topped with marshmallows.
As is tradition, our town descended upon the local golf course, transforming it into a winter wonderland. Admittedly, we weren’t exactly supposed to be there, but how could we let such perfect snow go to waste? It had to be raced on and sledded down, leaving behind a trail of red cheeks and joyful grins against the sparkling white backdrop.
The day before, in eager anticipation of the impending blizzard, my husband set off to find the perfect sleds. No flimsy plastic ones would suffice for our adventurous plans; we visited four different stores before finally finding the ideal ones for maximum sliding pleasure.
I bundled the kids in their cozy winter gear and sent them off with their dad. Sledding at the golf course isn’t exactly my idea of fun. It’s too cold, too crowded, and frankly, a bit risky. With teenagers darting around and kids racing back up the hills while others speed down, my heart races with every run. More than a few kids were without helmets; it felt chaotic and wild.
You could feel the tension in the air as near misses had us gasping and then exhaling in relief, laughter spilling out as we celebrated the thrill of the day. But this time was different.
What should have been a close call turned into a heart-wrenching incident. One moment, a cheerful little girl was gleefully zipping down the hill with her friend; the next, a chilling silence descended. The unthinkable happened.
So many adults and children had commented on the risks of those slopes, yet we often ignore the small dangers that fill our daily lives—like texting while driving or leaving kids unattended for just a moment. We shut our eyes, believing that nothing terrible could occur on such a beautiful day or to such a delightful little girl.
It could have been anyone; there were several injuries that day. It could have been my children. It could have been yours. Instead, it was a sweet third grader for whom I now pray with all my heart.
From now on, my kids will not go sledding. Or snowboarding. Or biking in the street. Or even jumping on beds. I could go on.
As much as I wish I could wrap my kids in a bubble to shield them from every possible physical and emotional harm, I know it’s simply not feasible. We need to live, to laugh, and yes, to sled. But maybe we should consider some protective gear—let’s call it risk management.
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In summary, while we yearn to protect our children from all harm, we must also recognize the beauty in taking calculated risks. Life is a balance between safety and adventure, and perhaps a helmet is all the protection we need for now.