My Crazy Dad Has Doomed My Love Life

by Lianne Stokes

When it gets too cold to roller blade, he skis. Well, sort of. Strapping on his helmet and a pair of skis that he obtained from another Vietnam vet who he claims “owed me a favor,” he takes to the mountains of upstate New York.

Wielding his Disabled American Veterans’ pass that he got for, well, getting shot, he skis free at some resorts and gets discounts at others. Claiming that he braves “the scariest mountains that are sheets of ice,” he doesn’t use poles and simply places his body in a cannonball position and takes off.

Naturally, I once asked, “What if you hit someone?”

This caused him to smirk and recount how he hit what he described as a young, chubby girl, referring to her as “sweetheart.” Apparently Sweetheart didn’t understand my father’s command of “Left!”—which he claims is ski lingo for “I’m passing on your left at a very high speed. I see you. Don’t move.”

Sweetheart either panicked or misunderstood and skied left into my father’s path. Their skis became intertwined, and my father landed unscathed with a giant thud. Sweetheart wasn’t so lucky, as my father had fallen on top of her. To add insult to injury, Sweetheart was down her front teeth, half–conscious and covered with snow. My father pointed out that he was thoughtful to stay with Sweetheart until the ski patrol sped over. He added that they had seen everything and exonerated him from blame, saying that she had had fair warning. When I asked if he knew what happened to Sweetheart, he said, “Not my problem.”