Life Lessons on a Snowy Hill

I talked to a family member earlier this week who is struggling, looking for direction, and could use some help.  I wanted to offer some good advice, but I didn’t feel like I had any.  Since then, for some reason or another, the story of Lizzy Watts came to my mind and I’ve decided maybe I do have some advice to share.

The Story

When I was in elementary school, there was a hill behind our school.  When it snowed we would carry, lug, and drag our sleds to school and spend our recesses racing up and down the hill.  We had a fifteen minute recess period in the morning, ‘noon recess’ – about 45 minutes at midday which was for both eating lunch and having outside time, – and then a second 15 minute recess in the afternoon.  Three times a day during the winter months, we would pull on our snow pants, coats, hats, soggy wet mittens, bread bags, and winter boots and hustle to the top of the hill to see how many times we could get down the hill before the bell signaled us to come back inside.

At Smith Elementary, morning and afternoon recess sessions were staggered by age, and as a member of the ‘lower el’ (first through third grades) your chances were much better that you wouldn’t get mowed over by older kids on wooden toboggans, or worse, old school sleds with metal runners.  But at noon recess the hill was a mass of humanity with kids from first through six grades flying down the hill on all manners of sleds, toboggans, and saucers.

I had a flexible flyer.  It was a blue rectangle of thin plastic with a small elliptical cutout at one end that served as a handle.  When not in use, it rolled up quite nicely in the manner of today’s yoga mats.  But it was a challenge, if not a feat of excellence, for an eight year old, with soggy mittens, bundled up like Ralphie’s little brother, to unfurl that plastic sled and keep it situated long enough to climb aboard.  The next challenge was to keep it headed in the right direction all the way down the hill.  If you let that Flying Carpet (one of the brand names) turn sideways, the thin plastic edge would cut into the snowy hill and either fill your sled, lap, and face with snow, or drag you to an abrupt halt, dumping you out ass over teakettle. 

Typically we had a downhill sledding area that was worn flat and polished to a quicksilver sheen.  Alongside it would be a well-trod pedestrian path leading back to the summit.  On one particular day, the uphill going was unusually tough.  Perhaps an overabundance of sleds had widened the usual sledding area, or maybe a freezing rain had swept through overnight.  In any case, I was having a heck of a time making it back up the steep and slippery slope.  After falling to my knees multiple times, I just stayed down and started to crawl up the hill in a two-steps forward one-step back sort of pattern.  I was oblivious to what the other kids were doing, so intent was I on the challenging path in front of me.

As I made my way up the hill, inch by inch, I made up a little chant in my head.  “Help, help, help me, help.”  It was such a catchy little phrase that at some point I began to chant out loud – albeit under my breath.  I was quite suddenly caught unawares when I heard a voice say, “Hey, do you need help?”

I looked up.  Lizzy Watts was crouched down beside me and she had just asked me if I needed help.  I was frozen not by cold, but by fear.  Lizzy Watts was from the ‘upper el’ (fourth through sixth grades) and she was tough, loud, sassy, and scary.  I gaped at her.

She continued to look at me quizzically as I realized with embarrassment that my song had been loud enough for others to hear.  I considered flattening myself out and allowing myself to slip silently back down to the bottom of the hill, but Lizzy wasn’t one to suffer fools.  She reached out, grabbed the shoulder of my jacket and dragged me over to an area where other kids were slowly making their way up the hill and I was able to get some traction.

“You okay?” she asked, letting go of my jacket. I stared at her dumbly. She apparently decided she had done all she could for me and moved on. But I have never forgotten about how that girl – that totally terrifying fourth grader – helped me out.

The Advice

Eyes up.  Be aware of what is happening around you.  What are other similarly situated people doing?  How are they being successful?  Don’t be so self-involved that you discover later you’re the only one being left behind.

Speak up.  Let people know you need help.  You don’t have to be a complainer or tell everybody your life story, but help comes from some unexpected places.  If people don’t know you need help, it won’t be offered.

Accept help when it’s offered.  Not everyone will grab ahold of you like Lizzy grabbed me.  If you’ve made up your mind what help looks like (or where you think it will come from) you could be passing up exactly what you need without knowing it.  Be open to new people, ideas, and experiences.

In any case, keep going, keep moving. Keep putting one foot (or knee) in front of the other. You will find your way.