Against my better judgment, I let Mike convince me to take a snowboarding lesson at the Hausberg. Years ago in Turkey, I gave snowboarding a whirl with my friends, Steph and Sarah. We laughed our way through a ridiculous lesson with a Turkish instructor who didn’t speak much English. I remember falling face-first and sliding halfway down the hill till my coat was completely full of snow. Nobody would blame me for not wanting to repeat history. And yet I did.

I wish I could say this lesson turned out differently. Actually, the biggest difference was that I tended to fall backwards instead of forwards. Twice, I got some good speed going only to do a full body slam on my back, rearranging all my vertebrae and whacking my head on the ground. Good thing I was wearing that stylin’ helmet.

Still intact before heading up the mountain. That’s Kelli, our instructor, on the far right.

Tony rented skis and hit the slopes while Dad, Mike, Summer and I took the snowboarding lesson.

Dad’s helmeted and ready to go. In the gondola on the way up.

Summer at Kinderland. Yes, we took our lesson at Kinderland.

Go, Dad, go! Stop, Dad, stop!

My favorite part of the lesson – lunch!

Pear schnapps – seriously? What are we, 17?

Dad and I bailed on the second half of our lesson after he did a cartoon-style roll down the hill, kicking up snow and lodging in some deep powder. (You gotta admire the guy. At age 66, he tried snowboarding for the first time. A fantastic skiier, he admitted snowboarding wasn’t his forté.) He and I stayed here at the D-9 Restaurant, edrinking hot chocolate and coffee and resting our weary bodies while Mike and Summer continued to tackle the mountain.

Tony makes one last run to the bottom of the mountain. We took the gondola down.

Kelli is clearly proud of Mike and Summer and disappointed in Dad and me.