![]() I'm trying to tell you something. - Samuel A. Powers, Jr. When I was 13 years old, my family planned an incredible winter trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. We went with several families, overtaking the ski in/ski out hotel at the base. My dad didn’t just teach me to ski. He taught me to ski the summit of Storm Peak. He showed me how to maneuver without fear in fresh powdered snow. He imparted wisdom about working hard and having fun, but he wanted me to realize that I am capable, resourceful, and intrepid- attempting what others might not dare. I could celebrate my achievements. I learned to ski the trees. My dad got it right. It was his personal recipe for a kind of success that is sweeter when it is shared with someone else. He believes in rewarding hard work. We call it making an A- but that doesn’t necessarily mean a grade on a paper. Well, one time it did. For my second paper in college English, I wrote about our Duck Pond, my father’s favorite place on earth. The professor gave me an A, Mama laminated it to keep at the family cabin, and my dad bought me a ticket to Key West. They were headed to a convention, and I was suddenly invited to join them. I drove to the airport for the first time and flew unaccompanied to Miami, changing planes for Key West. I crashed Jana and Sam’s romantic getaway- with their blessing- in style. Is it any wonder I am who I am today? I live to work hard then take a trip. I know I have made my father proud, and I know I have hurt his heart a time or two. I haven’t always taken his advice. My dad will preface all meaningful conversations with I’m trying to tell you something. This time I was nineteen and I wasn’t listening. Ironically, we were also back in Steamboat. Before he skied off not realizing I wasn’t behind him, he warned me. I’m trying to tell you something- Do NOT go that way. Follow me. You see, riding the gondola moments before, an arrogant but very hot cowboy of a skier boasted that no woman was stupid enough to try Vertigo- the black diamond run that stretched beneath us. But he was wrong; there I was, at the edge of a mistake daring life to teach me one lesson that I would not accept from my father. Moguls hammered my shaking legs as the sheer steepness stretched every muscle I never knew I had. I was possessed, and I dared not glance up to enjoy the face of Steamboat; my eyes were cast down in profound concentration. Exhaustion reigned, but I burned with insolence, defiance and yes- dammit- success. I made it to the bottom of the run. Filled with satisfaction that comes with victory, I relaxed. I had broken all my dad’s rules and still succeeded. That was the moment I fell. Hard. My left knee mocked me with twisted shame. During the long, agonizing process of untangling myself, I saw my dad hiking towards me. I was trying to tell you something. He also glimpsed how this lesson would cost me dearly as rescue skiers fastened me to one of those deplorable sleds. Don’t go that way. Follow me. I wish I had listened. I wish I had skied the trees with him instead of choosing the hard way down without him. More than thirty years and six surgeries later, this knee still aches every day. Since that incident, he now emphatically asks me, Will you listen? My dad still councils me with hundred percent of everything he knows. He doesn’t claim to have perfect solutions, but he has perfect answers. When I ask for insight, he will tell me how to choose kindness. When I ask for advice, he will tell me how to walk away from drama. When I ask for help, he will tell me how to stand up for myself – quietly or loudly. When I ask for motivation, he will always remind me of what is important. He doesn’t tell me what I want to hear; he tells me what I have to hear. The truth. If I want something, I have to work for it. Not work harder, but work smarter. I began working at Furlow just after Memama, his mom, passed away. I think maybe he needed my voice just as much as I still needed his. I began calling him on my short drive to work each morning for pep talks, just to hear that I’m not screwing it all up. I love to hear him laugh. What does he ask of me? Of my sister? To respect him and to honor what he loves – his family. It’s the small things that make a difference to him. I am also under strict instructions not to make Bob crazy. I received my notice yesterday that I have been accepted into graduate school. I am going back home to Auburn (War Eagle!) to begin a specialist’s degree in Foreign Language Education. I called my dad to let him know. I’m on my way again. I still need his advice. I need him to answer the phone when I call. For Bob’s sake. I’ll never be as smart as my dad, or as devoted to others as he is. I am certain I will never be as energetic or determined like he is. One thing is for sure. I will ski the trees.
1 Comment
Andrew Attyah
6/19/2020 05:35:42 pm
Sam A Powers Jr is truly one of the best men I am honored to know. As long as I’ve known him, he has always been humble, smart, great sense of humor, helpful, giving, and one of the hardest workers (even today) I know. Love him to death! Congrats to you and grad school, that’s awesome! I know Sam is happy for you, and proud, as always.
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JoAnna Arnold
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