American Sign Language is truly a beautiful language. Not only do signs carry meaning, but they often carry a story. Sometimes the story is historical and known to many. Other times, a sign carries particular relevance to one or two individual signers. This is the case for ASL teacher Chelsea Phemister every time she signs the word “ski.”

December 2004. A high school junior was on a ski trip with a group of friends to Wolf Creek in Colorado. Because she had never skied before, her more experienced friends warned her that she might want to take the instructional class, but she was convinced that she was athletic enough to handle it. Besides, the class was full of small children, and she would have been the only person over 8 years old. So, she headed straight for the slopes. Down the slope she went, not once, but twice, and everything went perfectly. There was no trouble on the slopes, and at the bottom she would just slow to a stop. She was feeling very pleased with herself. But then she decided to go again … it all went downhill from there.

December 2004. An adorable little 6 year old was on her first ski trip ever at Wolf Creek in Colorado with her family. Because she had never been before, her parents signed her up for the instructional class. A morning on the bunny slope later, she had decided she was terrified of skiing and would never try again. But her parents had paid for the full day, so she reluctantly tagged along as the instructor told the class they were ready for a real slope. At the top of the slope, she stood looking down in sheer terror. “French fry to go. Pizza to stop. Point the skis at your destination,” she told herself as she pushed off and headed down the slope. Surprisingly, everything went well all the way down, and she slowed to a stop at the bottom with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t until she turned back toward the slope that she panicked.

Chelsea hadn’t been worried about going down a third time until she neared the bottom of the slope and saw all the little children finishing their run. It suddenly occurred to her then. She had no idea how to stop. As she neared the bottom of the slope, she began to yell and wave so the kids would move, and most of them did. One little girl in particular didn’t. Perhaps it was because she couldn’t hear. Whatever the reason, that little girl stood, skis firmly planted, until the moment of impact. At that point, I fell to the ground in shock and awe.

Oh yes. The little 6 year old was me.

Against astronomical odds, we both remember the exact same story from different vantage point. Ten years later, Mrs. Phemister is teaching me sign language. Maybe it would have been useful in the situation…

Neither Mrs. Phemister nor I have been skiing since, and when she asked me if I would ever try it again, I said no. That day is forever ingrained in my brain as a day full of terror and tears and I will always remember it that way. However, in hindsight, it is quite a laugh, and the sign for “ski” will always bring a smile to my face.