The Snowboarder’s Journal: Why are you so sorry? Marie-France Roy: I know it’s over the top, but it’s the way I was raised. I always admired humble and respectful people. There’s not enough humility in the world, so, to people who give me shit for say-ing sorry too much, well, sorry for trying to just be nice [laughs]. Where did you learn to be nice, then? I’m not claiming I’m nice, I can be very mean—well, I’ll sound mean, but it’s just jokes. Sometimes I’m missing a little bit of finesse, very classic French-Canadian. But, I grew up with two older brothers, Alex and Jean-Francois, and mainly was raised by my father, Rene. We lived between two small towns an hour and a half east of Quebec City, on the north shore of the St. Lawrence River. It’s really pretty there, but very isolated. We were a little bit socially awkward. How was it being raised by a single father? My parents were together until I was 9, then my mom got depres-sion pretty bad and was gone. My dad is such a champ. He had a construction company and would wake up at 4:30 every morning and do paperwork, then leave the house at 6:30. He would make croissants, and they’d be out of the oven by the time we’d get up. He would come home, work some more and go to bed at 8:30, exhausted. When my mom left, he decided to get back into skiing to get some fun for himself. He said, “If you guys wanna help me with everything—laundry, cooking, cleaning the house—I’ll get you guys a family season pass every Christmas.” To which mountain? Le Massif, which was a half-hour away. I was 11, then. My brothers went straight to snowboarding, but they were like, “You probably should just try skiing first.” I went skiing one day and I was like, “This is bullcrap.” The next year I started snowboarding. I spent the whole season following my dad around, because my brothers were too cool. My dad loved moguls, so we rode moguls all season long and that’s how I learned how to snowboard. We both had those hats with the fur and the ear flaps. The next year he forced my brothers to take me around. They were cool with it, but their friends were mean to me. They would have spitting contests on my board on the chair-lift, seeing who could have the gnarliest one, and it would freeze over. And you just put up with it? I was so shy, and I just wanted to snowboard with them. I wouldn’t say a word all day. They were older and gnarly and I had no friends who snowboarded. I just wanted to be a part of the team, so I shut up and followed. They were like, “You suck,” all the time. But I did suck. Fair enough. 078 THE SNOWBOARDER’S JOURNAL
The Snowboarder's Journal frequency 15.4: Page 78
