The Best Coach

From the earliest I can remember,
Dad showed me
How to race down trails,
Dodge snowy trees and signs,
And hop over white moguls like an energized bunny.

As the wind picked up next winter,
So did I,
Harnessed, warm,
And carving over steep ice
Because that’s where Dad said it’d be best,
Time, after time,
I whizzed down the mountain.

At the age of 7,
Dad nicknamed me Turtle,
He wanted to get me irritated,
It worked,
But,
I had a hunger for speed.

By the winter I was nine,
Dad had given up on
Racing me,
He couldn’t handle losing,
I guess.

And even though he won’t admit it,
I can tell he's proud.