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Reprints From The Professional Skier

Winter 1998 - "Children Learn Life Skills On The Slopes" by Marie Russell-Shaw and Amy Zahm

This article is reprinted from The Professional Skier. All copyrights apply. Please see our copyright and disclaimer notice page.

"Boy, I sure envy those little kids. I wish I'd learned to ski when I was that small. They have no fear!" How often we hear an adult skier or snow boarder, especially a parent just beginning the sport, express these thoughts. Mom and Dad are afraid of falling, worried about the weather, intimidated by the cost, daunted by the effort and frustration required to develop new physical skills at "their age." Dad's already figured how long post-surgical recuperation time will keep him away from the office, and Mom's wondering how many weeks of physical therapy are covered by their insurance plan.

But what about kids? Do they worry? Sure, but they fret about an entirely different agenda. Children's instructors need to identify their students' special anxieties and alleviate them in creative ways that will facilitate a comfortable learning environment.

Three and four year olds worry about the absence of Mom and Dad. "How long until they comeback?" "Where will they be?" "Who will look after me in the meantime?" These are just a few of the questions that race through a child's mind when Mom and Dad drop him or her off for ski or snowboard lessons. If young children have been in day-care, they often readily adapt to new surroundings, but they still need a hug, a friendly smile, and time to relax and become familiar with their new digs.

And once they are placed among other children in a class, more questions kick in. "Can I play with the cool new toys, and do I have to share?" "Where's the bathroom?" "What's for lunch?" "What happens if that big kid over there punches me?" "Who's going to hug me if I get scared or lost?" "Will that teacher get mad if I forget his name again?" "Do I have to take a nap like a baby?"

As if asking little kids to accept a new environment weren't enough, ski and snowboard lessons introduce another element to the vacation equation: learning new mobility in a slippery winter wonderland. We plunk them down in cold weather and snow, encase their feet in unbending plastic, attach long boards, set them atop a slope, and ask them to maintain newly acquired bipedal balance while sliding downhill. That's a lot to ask for. It's a wonder and a tribute to great ski instructors that so many 3 and 4 year olds are smiling and giggling while happily sliding.

The older group, 5 to 7 year olds, are comfortable in a school setting, so they take parental separation and relative independence more in stride. But these youngsters want some degree of control over their surroundings. Seven-year-old Brianna refuses to leave the ski school classroom, proclaiming loudly, "My Mom told me she'd pick me up inside this room, and I'm staying right here until she does. I never go with strangers!" She knows full well that her mother expects her to go outside and ski, but she'll argue stubbornly until boredom and loneliness set in after the other kids suit up and roar off for a day of fun.

Ski instructors are routinely faced with nausea, headaches, tantrums, "lost" necessities, and occasionally outright noisy rebellion from kids who are scared stiff to cede total control over the next five hours. "This isn't my idea, and I'm not going to cooperate," is the message kids convey as they flop obstinately on the floor. But acceptable options usually win them over. "You can ski now or sit inside and color until lunch." "You can choose Fred or Samantha as your instructor today." "Do you want to ski tree trails or the racecourse this morning? " "For lunch you can order hot dogs, pizza, or peanut butter and jelly--you get to choose!"

All 10 to 12 year olds, the preteens, live in daily terror of making total fools of themselves. Having to relate to a roomful of new kids, sporting a purple ski outfit that Mom ordered out of a catalog, trying a new sport and acting like a goob, and wearing geeky goggles and stinky sunscreen are unbearable. And then the rental shop fits Bubba with size five white "girly" ski boots because that's the only color available in his size. Bubba won't be seen dead in white boots so he cries alligator tears of excruciating foot pain until he's swimming in a size eight acceptable gray boot that would better fit his father.

These are great kids, but they're scared of appearing clumsy or stupid, of being different, of getting teased or criticized, of failing and not being able to get up, of being the slowest, or of being left behind. They want an instructor who listens to their feelings as well as their words.

Chairlifts evoke a whole world of fright for the beginner, but few kids will admit it until they trust their instructor not to laugh at them. "How do I get on, where does it go, and how can I get off without falling on my face?" "And will I have to ride all that way with a weirdo?" (frequently defined by 8 to 10 year olds as any member of the opposite sex).

A youngster who admits being scared of heights deserves a ride with the instructor, who can divert his or her attention with stimulating conversation. I once asked my standard diversionary question as to what type of animal made those tracks in the snow below us, to which a timid 6-year-old child from Florida answered after considerable thought, "An alligator!" Icebreaker topics encourage social interaction on lift rides. "Who has the most annoying little brother or the strangest pet?" or "Who lives the farthest away?" But always remember, there's a safety issue here. While every child needs clear, concise information before riding a chairlift, the fearful child won't hear you or process information until you acknowledge his or her concerns. Children need time to use all their senses: to watch others load, ask questions, and feel your support and perhaps your reassuring hand on their shoulder.

Children have to like and trust their instructor before they'll let go of their fears. Instructors must be "nice," which combines funny, patient, affectionate, and "cool." A combination of Bart Simpson, Princess Leia, and Michael Jordan would be awesome. Instructors must always remember their students' names, though students are allowed to forget theirs. Memorable instructor nicknames work with the youngest crowd, although Mom and Dad may wonder about "Ducky," "Apple," or "Spiderman." The 5- to 7-year-old crowd love elephant and knock-knock jokes, but instructors must be careful to edit out the sexist, ethnic, or offensive content. And the preteens want action and approbation. One of their greatest fears is being trapped all day in a boring class with a pedantic teacher. To be a popular and effective instructor, you need to keep 'em moving and challenged, well-fed, and well-appreciated.

Offer children adventure, but also give them the option to go around the bump, the jump, or the steep section. Challenge the class, but provide a safe, comfortable alternative. Encourage each child to talk quietly with you about his or her worries and listen to body language as well as words. Don't be surprised if these worries entail too little challenge as well as too much. Make it clear to your students that they will not be asked to do anything that frightens them, so they can always speak up if thrills become threatening. We want happy challenged kids having fun within, or just a smidgeon beyond, their comfort level.

"I can't" is shorthand at any age for "I'm scared to try." While some instructors bark that "Can't is a four-letter word, and we don't use those here," that statement fails to recognize the anxiety behind the words. Indeed, little kids often can't perform a complicated new skill on the first try, but your role is to help them learn it gradually. An encouraging hug helps, and praise for the brave attempt is essential (although it's often best to ask permission before hugging). Six and seven year olds can usually be cajoled into trying something new, and the "too cool for ski school" crowd (10 to 12 year olds) often rises to a direct challenge: "You probably can't, but if you prove me wrong, you'll get to choose the next run."

Most kids' ski instructors recognize the CAP model and can draw from it good insights into children's actions in lessons. Kids have a logical, cognitive thought process, emotional and often illogical affective reactions, and limited physical muscle/skeletal capabilities. Little kids who are miserable with separation anxiety won't hear a word about how to make a wedge. Talk quietly to them with lots of reassurance, identify their fears, and remind them that they will have fun improving all day and will soon be able to ski with their parents way up on the mountain. Your confidence acts as a powerful booster against their self-doubts.

Let kids ages 6 and up choose activities and trails and encourage friendships to make them comfortable and emotionally secure. Try to discover what's special about each student. They need to know that you care about them and recognize their skill at spelling or swimming or soccer, even if they are still beginners at skiing.

One colleague of mine has the kids set rules about teasing, nicknames, skiing too fast or too slow, throwing snowballs, and swearing, And the kids decide the penalties. It builds teamwork and social responsibilities, and her classes always have fun and make outstanding progress.

Cognitively, instructors need to be sure kids understand the new vocabulary we throw at them. Ever tried to explain the fall-line concept to a 5 year old? Now try to add "perpendicular" or even "across" as an explanation for how the skis must be positioned before he or she can successfully get up on a slope. Kiddie terms like "pizza slice," "french fries," and "open and close the door" are fun, descriptive, and familiar, but all kids over the age of 5 deserve to know these maneuvers are really called "wedge," "parallel," and "matching." Kids can handle technical terms and should at least be allowed to choose which names they prefer.

Children are mostly visual learners, so be sure to show them exactly what you want. They love identifying what the instructor is doing wrong, causing the expert to tumble and crash, and, wow, you've just checked for understanding while getting a laugh.

Taking a child at any age to terrain that is more difficult than what he or she is ready for can cause instant panic. Children need to move to learn while learning to move, but they don't need to move all over the mountain. Familiarity encourages comfort. The kindergarten class may be perfectly secure and content exploring the interesting rolls and gullies of the beginner hill all afternoon, while their instructor is champing at the bit to progress to more challenging terrain. Challenging for whom?

Respect your students, regardless of their ages, abilities, and personal quirks. Remember that kids are individuals with their own very individual needs and feelings. We group childish characteristics into categories to better learn how to recognize and handle them, but let's not ever expect kids to fit the cookie-cutter mold. Obviously there's more to a great kids' lesson than terrain selection and skill development. If a child doesn't feel safe, he or she won't try and can't learn, no matter how well you explain and demonstrate.

And social security is as much an issue in a ski class as on the floor of Congress. It means no nasty nicknames, no teasing, waiting for the slowest, reining in the fastest. A psychologically balanced lesson encourages friendships and cooperation, recognizes each child's talents, offers individual coaching, and heaps on tons of positive reinforcement. Then a child can spread his or her wings and soar.

When parents wisely entrust their kids to ski schools, they hope and expect the kids to learn not just the mechanics of the sport but to kindle an overall love of the mountain environment. Love and trust overcome a child's anxiety every time.

A Level II certified instructor, Lynda Parker is the children's center supervisor of the Winter Park Skier and Rider Improvement Center in Colorado.