As I look out the window at the freshly fallen snow, I sit here reflecting on when I was 17 years old, the same age my twins currently are. My best high school friend Jenny and I wanted to go for a snowmobile ride. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. It had rained earlier in the day, and the rain then turned to snow. Across the street from my childhood home was a huge wide-open field with a huge sliding hill, Hoolihan Hill. It was a winter wonderland playground, wide-open space, and many rolling hills. Early afternoon, I asked my mom if I could take the 1972 Arctic Cat Panther out for a little spin around the field. My mom immediately said, you know I am not going to let you do that. That sled is your dad’s baby. You need to ask him. Dang, I thought, now I need to call my dad at work, on a Saturday, and ask him. Now keep in mind, my dad was a hard-driving construction superintendent on an extensive $550M modernization project for one of the paper mills about 75 miles from our house. He had over 900 workers on site, working 6 days a week, twelve-hour days, with a three-hour commute each day. His stress level was thru the roof. I finally mustered up the courage to call and ask. Of course, his answer was, “why don’t you girls wait until I get home. I should be there around 3 or a little after”. Not the answer I wanted to hear, but we could wait a little bit. Three o’clock came and went, 3:30 came and went. I decided, what harm would it be to at least start the machine and let it warm up a little? He should be home by the time it warmed up and ready to ride. So, Jenny and I dressed in our warm clothes and outside we went. The snowmobile did not have an electric start like they do today. You actually had to choke it, pull the recoil, and feather the throttle to start it. Well, it just so happened when I pulled the recoil and hit the throttle, the throttle stuck, and the snowmobile took off on its own at rocket speed, hit the side of the garage, bounced off the siding on the garage, and found a nice huge pine tree to straddle—a ski on each side. Boom, the machine stopped dead!! All I can think of is holy heck, I am going to be in so much trouble. Little did I know, just as the snowmobile had hit the side of the garage and proceeded down the hill to straddle the tree, my dad had walked up and witnessed the entire production. He looked at me with anger in his eyes and said, “are you okay?” I nodded. He asked my friend, Jenny, “are you okay?” she tearfully nodded. He said, “then get the ^&*% out of my sight. Jenny ran to her truck and immediately left. I ran to the house. Talk about a well-executed plan gone wrong. Now I don’t remember the details after that other than I was grounded, talked to about “No means No,” and never did anything like that again.