I like BBQ Chicken

I had a capable 8-year old little boy, all decked out with his helmet and ready to ski. I couldn’t forget Mitch’s name, cause it was written on the duct tape stuck to his helmet. As usual, I get the student enthused to ski by talking about skiing as we walk across the patio to the beginner’s lift (it’s also to find out what kind of skier they are). Mitch said something that I couldn’t quite hear; “What was that?” I ask.

“I like BBQ chicken,” he said.

I didn’t know what to think about that or why he said that. I sniffed in the air as we passed the building that houses the restaurant. Nothing. Maybe my sense wasn’t smell wasn’t working.

“Did you smell chicken?” I ask.

“No, I just like BBQ chicken.”

okay.

A moment later he asked, “Does that sign say, ‘Ski Patrol’?”

It did.

“I thought it said, ‘Ski Potato’!” With his smile, I could tell he was laughing to himself at the thought. “Do you think the ski patrol likes ski potatoes?”

I began to think about how what a ski potato would look like or how I would cook a ski potato. We bantered a bit about that, both laughing to ourselves and to each other about it.

Minutes later, during our first ride up the lift, Mitch asked about the different slopes... I explained about green, blue and black runs.

“That’s like a blue and black salad!!” The size of his grin showed that he was quite tickled by that idea.

“You like food, don’t you?” I ask.

I could tell that all the other thoughts left his mind as he stopped to think about that. He looked up at me, “Yeah, I guess I do!”

Everyday, as a ski instructor, I could tell you a new story about one of my students. Maybe you had to be there, but this one was kind of funny to me. Now I want to make a ski potato.