To everyone who’s ever asked ‘Aren’t you worried?’ about my 12-year-old ski racer

Dear Concerned Fellow Parent,

Thank you for your question! First, a little background.

My son JT has been skiing about as long as he’s been walking. You know those kids you see on the side of the mountain sobbing and screaming at their parents, “I’m scared!”, “I’m tired!”, “I’m cold!”, “I want to go inside!”? Not my kid. (Actually, I do have one of those kids, too, but that’s another story.)

When JT is skiing he isn’t scared, tired or cold. Ever. And he certainly never wants to go inside. Ever. He’s a pretty shy guy who’d rather go without lunch at school than have a conversation with a grown-up to explain he forgot his. But watch him talk a lift operator into letting him go up one more time five minutes after closing, and you’d think he was born in the Boiler Room. The kid loves to ski – that’s it.

He started asking to join ski team pretty early, and when we discovered what that would mean financially, we initially said no. He kept asking. Finally, after he invested an entire semester in an independent study project about how to be a great ski racer, we realized this wasn’t going to pass and we signed him up.

He skis on a great team with great coaches and great kids. He gets sore. He gets tired. He gets hurt. He loves every minute of it. He goes faster than I can imagine. And sometimes he falls down.

When people (friends, family, strangers) learn that he’s racing, like you, they typically ask, “Aren’t you worried about him?!” (We both know that exclamation point at the end represents the unspoken part of the question which goes something like, “How can you allow him to do that? I would never let my child do something so dangerous because I clearly love mine more than you love yours.”)

So, here’s my answer.

Of course I’m worried about him! I’m a mom. We start worrying when we see two pink lines on a stick and we don’t really stop. When he was little I worried that he’d get hurt on the playground and not grow tall enough because he wouldn’t eat meat and never go to college because he was late learning to read. Today I worry that some 12-year-old Jezebel is going to mess with his mind and then break his heart. I worry that when he’s walking to the pizza place in town he’s going to get run over by a high school kid with a new car. I worry that some monster with access to guns and a chip on his shoulder is going to storm into his school. And yes, I worry that someday he’s going to crash on a race course and break every beautiful bone I built for him. I worry. I worry plenty.

But I don’t tell him he can’t fall in love. I don’t tell him he can’t walk to town for pizza. I don’t tell him he can’t go to school. And I don’t tell him he can’t race down a mountain on skis.

Before you queue up that speech in your head about me being the parent and the fact that it’s my job to create boundaries and say no, let me just stop you.

I say “no” a lot. I say “no” to sugar for breakfast, “no” to TV during the school week, “no” to skateboarding without a helmet, “no” to skipping homework, and “no” to his having an iPhone, cigarettes, or Call of Duty. I say “no” when the risk is entirely out of whack with the possible reward. I say “no” to things from which no good can come, and “no” to things that have negative consequences he can’t predict or comprehend. I say “no” plenty.

But ski racing just doesn’t fit into any of those “no” boxes. Although the risks in ski racing are real and significant, the rewards really do outweigh them. Plenty of good – great, actually – can and already has come from his being part of this sport. When JT talks about skiing he’s animated, articulate, excited, alive. He’s focused on fitness and eating well. He started a dog walking business to earn money to buy his own gear. He’s got good friends who push him and support him and care about him. He’s, well, he’s happy. If you have ever met one, you know none of that usually describes the “typical” 12-year-old boy.

So we’re not saying no. Do I secretly wish his life’s passion involved bouncing a basketball? Sure. Do I cringe every time I write another giant check to pay for coaching or race entries? Yes. Do I have to close my eyes some times when I watch him ski? Uh huh. Does it break my heart to see tears well in his eyes from the pain of pulling off his boots at the end of the day. Oh yeah.

But do I say no? I do not. And I will not. Because while I did make him, I know that he’s not mine. And the fact that he’s choosing to do something I would never do doesn’t necessarily mean he’s making a bad choice. And while I love him mightily, I know that the way to show him how much I love him is not to wrap him in cotton. It’s not my job to make sure he never gets hurt. It’s my job to make sure he has everything he needs to be as safe as he can be and that he has coaches who love him (almost) as much as I do. It’s my job to give great leg rubs, and draw hot baths, and to make sure he knows if he never skis another day in his life, his parents will be just as proud of him and love him just as much as we do today. It’s my job to make sure he knows that pursuing his passion is worthwhile. In this case, it’s my job to say “yes”.

It’s not always easy, but I’m doing my job. Now, you go back to doing yours.