I’d like to thank all the guys—students at Norwich University, all pushing retirement age by now—who gave me shoulder rides to the top of my local hill in central Vermont. I was five, too small to hold down the poma platter. They made a little boy with a runny nose very happy. Man, how I loved to ski when I was five.
And I’d like to apologize to everyone in those liftlines whose skis I walked on—just walked on—as I cut my way to the front each run. My parents didn’t ski, and I guess everyone else was too nice to correct me. The following year, I broke my leg on a kicker my brother built in our back yard. Maybe even five-year-olds need to mind their karma.