I had an all-time “proud dad” moment last week while riding a ski lift with my daughter. Our family was up at Sugarloaf doing some skiing and snowboarding for the kids’ winter break, and on Wednesday, I got to spend a couple of hours one-on-one with our 7-year-old, Penny. As a recent Florida transplant, she’s new to skiing and winter in general, but she’s really embraced it so far and enjoys being on the slopes.
On this particular day, Penny had picked a route that she wanted to ski over and over again. We’d ride the lift to the top of the bunny slope, then cruise down some gentle terrain, dodge some lodge traffic at the base, and continue further down over some little rollers the ski school sets up for the little kids (and big kids like me). We’d then take two lift rides back to the top and hit it again, lap after lap, always meeting at the bottom for fist bumps and a quick recap of how awesome the run was.
The funniest part of the whole thing was an unspoken but very real race that kind of organically materialized. You see, I’m a snowboarder, and it takes me a minute to strap in my back foot after getting off the lift. Penny, being a skier, is able to glide off the chair and seamlessly start her descent down the mountain…which means she gets a head start! So, every run started a new race that went something like this: Penny would take off (always with a little wink) while I was fumbling with my bindings, and I’d try my best to catch her before we made it to the bottom. As you might imagine, the intensity started to ramp up once the competitive juices started flowing - we are Smiths, after all.
On one of the runs, Penny was absolutely cooking down the mountain, going at a speed that made me (and certainly would have made her mother) a bit uncomfortable. She’s done this kind of thing a few times before, and it almost always leads to a very frightened little girl at the base of the hill. So when I met her at the lift, about 10 seconds behind her, I was expecting her to be a little shaken up…but she wasn’t. Not this time.
I came skidding to stop and gave her a high-five and a big squeeze, and we hopped back on a chair for another run. While riding up on the lift, I looked at her and said, “Wow, P! You were really flying on that one! Were you scared?” And then she said…”No, Dad. When I got going really fast, I just told myself that I’m the pilot, not a passenger.”
I was blown away. For a kid who can be very emotional, her calm and poise in that moment felt special. And that phrase seemed so clever and familiar. I asked her where she heard that. Had they taught her that in ski school? Then the big moment came. The one that we parents are always waiting for, but so rarely comes. Penny said, “Dad, you taught me that.” Holy shit! There it was. After almost 18 years of parenting, one of my kids took something I told them, put it to good use, and gave me credit for it! Single tear.
Once I got over the initial shock and bliss of the moment, I couldn’t help but reflect on the lesson that Penny had just taught me: You’re the pilot, not a passenger. What a simple and beautiful metaphor for life.
I can’t remember where I first heard that phrase, but it was probably in the context of jumping a mountain bike or riding a surfboard. When you’re doing those kinds of activities, it is normal to feel overwhelmed by the height or the speed or the fear and go into passenger mode, just trying to hang on for the ride and not get thrown off. It is a natural part of the learning process, but it is not a space you want to be in for too long, because you will eventually get hurt.
At some point, we need to work up the courage and confidence to really take the reigns, to be the pilot of that mountain bike and control its flight through the air, to steer that surfboard on the face of wave…to live our lives knowing that we are behind the controls, not just going along for the ride.
It is easy to feel like a passenger in a world that is moving really damn fast while living lives that are chalked full of obligations and deadlines. I often catch myself clinging to the proverbial handlebars, just trying to get through another packed week of work and family commitments. I suppose that’s ok sometimes, but it’s also not how I want things to be all the time.
I really appreciate Penny giving me a win as a dad last week. It feels wonderful to know that I can help my kids handle new and scary situations. But I really, really appreciate her reminding me that “I am the pilot, not a passenger.”
