The last thing I want to do this Sunday morning is get out of bed and drive to the nearby ski mountain. But I have a date with the manager and my fourteen-year-old son.
Yesterday I dropped him and Neighbor Kid off to ski for the day. It was cold and windy but they were excited. "Not too many New York kids will be here today—too cold," says Neighbor Kid gleefully. They hate the crowded weekends at the mountain. The ticket prices go from $15 to $50 and the crowd goes from one lane of parked cars to a parking lot full and overflowing.
"How do you know who is a New York kid and who is not?" asks curious Dad. Uproarious laughter from both juvenile passengers before My Kid explains.
"Well, Dad, that's easy. They have ALL the gear. You know... the real expensive stuff. And they can't ski for shit!"
"Mmmm," I notice myself wondering, "should I deliver my 'don't stereotype' lecture or just laugh?" I laugh.
I ask Neighbor Kid who is two years younger than My Kid if he's all set for the day. He doesn't usually ski this mountain and doesn't have a season pass.
"Yep... I have plenty of money for my pass and lunch," he says.
So I drop them off, shove the truck into four wheel and gun it across the still mostly empty parking lot for a little fun slippin' and slidin' to let out a bit of the juvenile that has rubbed off on me during the ride, gleefully looking at the kids faces in the rear view as I wave goodbye.
That evening I'm sitting at my computer when My Kid gets dropped off at home. I overhear conversation in the kitchen with Mother. Something about 'trouble at the mountain'. I strain to listen but give up, deciding I need to hear the whole story later. I don't have to wait long as Mother comes right in to tell me.
Seems as though the prices for tickets were more than Neighbor Kid had allowed for. He didn't have enough for a ticket. I knew I should have waited. Here I am doing wheelies in the parking lot while Neighbor Kid is in distress. Better not tell Mother about that.
My Kid though, being the creative genius he is, decides on a plan. He will go to the office and tell them he forgot his season pass. They will give him a ticket for the day which he will pass on to Neighbor Kid and they will then both be off and skiing. He puts his plan to action, it works like a charm, and away they go.
Mistake happens when Neighbor Kid gets cold and wants to buy a face mask with the money he didn't need to use for a ticket. He discovers that if he has a season pass he can get a 50% discount. Ever eager to help out one more time, My Kid gives him his pass. Smart sales clerk checks pass with photo ID and says,"You don't look like him!" BUSTED!
Manager summons both kids to office for interrogation and subsequent confession. His decision—show up here tomorrow with a parent or your season pass will be revoked for the rest of the year.
So here I am with Mother coming along as she thinks this is serious enough to need the presence of two parents. As always she's right. This is a big day in the evolution of awareness in this young man we call our son.
Manager meets and greets and brings us to his office. He asks My Kid to tell his story again which he does with great humility, honesty, and eye contact. (Seems he has taken my coaching well. I'm impressed. Look from mother says "Don't be!" I hide it.) Manager explains seriousness of the crime. Theft. Charges could be pressed. My Kid might not be invited back on the property—ever. He then tells him to wait outside while he talks to the parents.
Immediately Manager's demeanor changes from pissed to light. He empathizes with us. Tells us about the crazy stuff he did as a kid to help us feel better. Then asks what might be the best fix. We could just pay the money for the pass but would that be a good idea? We don't think so. Last thing I want is to buy My Kid out of trouble unless he's on death row or something equally serious. And I don't want him to get away with this. Previous night, Mother had an idea.
"How about we ask them if he can work it off?" she had suggested.
I like it and we propose it. Manager likes the idea too. He phones the lodge and talks to Boss Lady. She agrees. My Kid can work bussing tables in the lodge.
"How about next weekend, Saturday and Sunday?" suggests Manager.
"Sounds like a plan," I say.
I make mental note of the benefit of small town life. No hassles about insurance, workers comp., liability and all that crap. Let's just find a way that will work for everyone.
Manager calls My Kid back in.
Demeanor changes back to serious. He tells him of decision and how this particular debt to society and the company will be paid and adds, "If the Supervisor in the lodge says you do a good job you can get your pass back but no skiing all this week. OK?"
My Kid nods and then says "Thanks", with just a hint of gleeful humility.
We leave and drive home mostly in silence. I glance at my Kid and he glances back at me and we hold each others gaze for a knowing moment. There is no need for words. The look says it all.