As a kid growing up, there were many things I wished I could do but didn’t have the money for. Sledding was one of those things.
Growing up in a low-income household, my parents couldn’t afford to buy me the warm winter gear or the sleds that many of my classmates had. So, I resigned myself to watching from the sidelines as I heard about the trips from friends in more affluent neighborhoods.
But this year, something changed. As an adult, I finally had the means to buy myself a sled and the warm gear I needed to stay comfortable in the cold. And so, on a whim, I decided to give sledding a try.
I have to admit, I was a little nervous as I made my way up the hill. It had been so long since I’d last done this, and I wasn’t sure I remembered how. But as I sat down on the sled and pushed off, something magical happened.
The wind rushed through my hair and the cold stung my cheeks as I flew down the hill, my laughter mixing with the sound of the sled cutting through the snow. It was a feeling of pure joy and freedom, and I couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear.
As an African American writer, I am grateful for the opportunity to experience new things and make up for lost time. And while sledding might seem like a small and insignificant thing to some, it was a moment of pure happiness and childhood delight that I will always treasure.