come on, we're goin' for a sled ride, christmas time is here again. . .

My eighth Christmas brought with it a huge, uneven rectangle package wrapped in Poinsettia wrapping paper behind the tree. I had no idea what it was, but it was big! Its turn finally came. I tore into it with my normal ferocity. It was a huge, black sled. It was made from hard Rubbermaid-like plastic. It had hand breaks on both sides. Normally, such a gift would not being something that I would even look twice at, except to be polite and say how much I loved it. However, for some odd reason that day, it looked fun.
We still had a few hours before we needed to be at my grandparent’s house for lunch. Mom and Dad had all they were cooking in the oven already, so all we had to do was wait. We decided to go outside and break in the new sled.
It was one of the occasional Christmases where it actually snowed on Christmas day. This always put the magical feel to the day over the top for me. We took the sled to the back yard and sat it on the top of the slight hill. It was the same place we set up the Slip and Slide during the summers. I got on the sled and got situated.
I was nervous. I never did anything this athletic or risky. It would be two more years until I leaned how to ride a bike, mom, pregnant with Ted, running beside me trying to keep me steady. She had always been a tom-boy and knew how to do things like play ball and ride bikes.
Mom and Dad gradually pushed me the first few steps. Soon my body weight took over and I was off. I hill was only twenty feet long, but it was quite a journey. The snow flying in my face, blurring my vision. The cold air stinging my nose and ears. Our dogs frolicking beside the sled. I was flying. It was thrilling.
Suddenly, I became aware of the destination my sled had in mind. I pulled up on the brakes. They just made a new path in the snow. The sled kept hurdling forward. I screamed. I pushed harder on the breaks. The right one broke. I screamed louder. In a flurry of powdery snow, my body arrived at my sled’s objective. I crashed into my merry-go-round (yes, I had my own merry-go-round—spoiled, remember?). Technically, I guess I crashed Under my merry-go-round. My right leg intelligently stayed where it was meant to be. My more adventurous left foot caught the edge of the merry-go-round and whipped my leg up to rest beside my face. My fat belly wedged into the space between the cylinder of death and the ground and brought the Christmas sleigh ride to an abrupt halt. Thank goodness for obesity. I lay there, my bottom half (at least most of it) wedging under the merry-go-round; my top half, next to my left leg, stuck out in the snow, bellowing. I was stuck. I couldn’t move. The wedged fat was making it hard to breath. I was going to suffocate. I knew it. I was stuck. I found the strength within me to scream even louder. I would be pinned there for hours, until the Jaws of Life came to release me from the all consuming dominion of my playground equipment.
In less than thirty seconds, Mom and Dad had managed to yank me from under my prison, with much grunting, I might add. My leg was sore. My sled was scratched and missing a break (which apparently wouldn’t change anything anyway). My belly red from where it stopped the incredible journey. I never used that sled again. I would be damned if that evil fucker would ever ensnare and trap me again. I didn’t blame the merry-go-round, for some reason. We had been friends for a long time. I knew its involvement in my capture was unintentional. It was as much of a victim of the sled’s vile plans as I was.