I learned a new youngster term this week, YOLO. My 14 year old son, Ben, kept saying, "YOLO, Mom. YOLO!" Then he'd take a running start and go sliding on one of the mounds of icy snow in our path.
Ben and I went on a camping trip in Washington's Central Cascades this past week. The fourth of July crowds were bumper to bumper on Sunday afternoon heading West back into the Seattle area on a meandering two lane highway. We however, were heading east, away from town and away from crowds. It never crossed our minds that soon we'd be standing on snow in our shorts.
As many of you may know, I'm not big on thrill seeking. I was the one child at slumber parties who wanted to actually sleep. I didn't ride a coaster until I was an adult and I don't go down escalators without one hand free to hold onto the rail. No amount of coaxing with, "You only live once, Mom!" was going to get me to go sliding out of control down a mound of melting ice even if we weren't three miles from our car on a mountain ridge. Ben, however, found making fun of my aged sensibilities thoroughly satisfying.
On our descent we came across the last of the snow mounds, not far from the trail head. Like he'd done so many times before, he took a running start. Perhaps the terrain had a greater slope or perhaps the invincibility of the age got the better of him, but this time Ben lost his balance. His arms went windmill style. A flexed foot lifted off the ground in front of him, his torso leaned sideways and to the rear. Somehow he managed to remain right footed, if not humbled. I said. "YOLO, Ben. Is this how you want to die? YOLO!"
I guess you could say that the hike was mutually satisfying.
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