YODEL DAD KNOWS BEST Words Trevor Dickie Author Trevor Dickie and his dad, Keith, in 2000 at Timberline, OR. Photo: Dickie Family Archives WHEN I WAS IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, my dad Keith and I would wake up early on winter weekends and head to Stevens Pass, WA. Sometimes, he’d even pick me up after school and we’d go riding under the lights. After a skiing mishap that resulted in a broken leg when I was 4 years old, I started snowboarding and never looked back. He’s a skier, but he taught me as much as he could about snowboard-ing. We traveled all over the Pacific Northwest to explore other moun-tains, and spent plenty of time lost in the trees at our home resort. As I grew older, I started riding with friends more and my dad less. I wanted to follow my buddies into the park instead of riding with my parents. Then Dad had to work more to deal with the recession, so he couldn’t go to the mountain much. And in the past four or five years, I have only ridden with him a handful of days. Late last season, though, I went to Stevens Pass with Dad. We were riding under the lights, chasing leftover snow from a morning storm. We were sitting on the chairlift, headed up for one of our last runs of the night when he told me, “I don’t think that you’re making the wrong decisions with your life. I don’t want you to think that.” I’ve always struggled to feel like I am making the right choices in comparison to my family. Whether spending all my money on gear or neglecting college to focus on climbing and riding, I’ve gotten into many arguments with my dad about whether I was on the right path in life. But when he explained that he was proud of and confident in what I was doing, it meant a lot—especially now that I know he won’t be around for much longer. This past summer, my dad was diagnosed with glioblastoma. A rare and aggressive form of brain cancer, it leaves the patient with a prog-nosis of maybe a year to live, depending on treatment. I had been an active climber, snowboarder and mountain biker, but after the diagno-sis, I stopped enjoying myself. I spent most of the summer and fall in bed. I didn’t want to do anything at all except dwell in sadness. Then, this fall, as the snowboard season started to draw closer, I was flooded with memories of our time on snow. And I became motivated to ride as much as possible. I may not get to ride with my dad this year. I hope I will, but it’s un-likely. But I now understand how fortunate I was to have him show me the outdoors at a young age. He’s always so happy to be there, regardless of the conditions. Thank you, Dad, for making me realize we’re lucky just to have the privilege of being in the mountains, enjoying ourselves. 028 THE SNOWBOARDER’S JOURNAL
The Snowboarder's Journal frequency 15.4: Page 28
