He slid to a halt, unlocked his bindings, and strode to me. My fall off the Lake Tahoe ski trail had not harmed me physically, but the approaching snow athlete petrified me. I was a nine-year-old skier facing my ultimate fear: a snowboarder.
Elders labeled snowboarders as “provocateurs of crude behavior.” I recall an uncomfortable gondola ride with a disgruntled couple. Their combined presence, complete with matching, fuchsia snow outfits, forced me into submission with every criticism they spat. The male’s face contorted into a grimace, “I wish the resort banned snowboarders!” I could not help but agree when the woman exclaimed, “Once I found a snowboarder peeing on the trail. They’re disgusting!” I was at the age when adults could take advantage of my innocence to instill their prejudices in me. And I succumbed.
As I cowered in the snow, I felt convinced the approaching snowboarder was about to pee on me. The harsh crunch of snow compacted under each advancing footstep, as if the snow was submitting to the snowboarder’s savagery and might. I attempted to appear pathetic so that the snowboarder would pity my rueful state and rethink his attack.
Suddenly, he grasped my hand. I clasped my eyes shut and prepared for torture. Instead, I felt groomed trail beneath my feet. I peeked and noticed the snowboarder retrieving my skis. Wow, he was not an obtuse monster. I saw the snowboarder for what he was: a human being.
As he yanked me from the snow, he also yanked me to my senses. I realized that elders are not always correct. I could have thoughts of my own; I could be independent and still be right.
Using my own judgment swelled my pride. I cleared a hurdle between boyhood and manhood: independence. Not only did I maintain my wits while alone with a mysterious snowboarder, but I also had thoughts of my own.
These thoughts helped me understand that prejudice goes beyond just racism. Ever since learning about Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. in preschool, I’ve known the reprehensible effects of racism. However the snowboarder helped me recognize that prejudice can transcend racial barriers. If I’m going to respect the efforts of social activists like MLK and Nelson Mandela, then I must respect people from all walks of life.
The more I see prejudice, the more I want to stop it. I recalled a time when even my closest friends in college labeled anything inferior as “gay.” Despite the fact that we had LGBT friends in common, I’d hear how our economics exams were “so gay.” After my encounter with the snowboarder, I realized that I couldn’t dismiss this all-too-common form of inadvertent prejudice. I needed act. Like the snowboarder, LGBTs and everyone in between are people too. Therefore, I faced another fear: confronting my own friends about their inadvertent prejudices. With an open and respectful conversation we both left the discussion with an expanded awareness of other people.
It took the sudden thud of “Sierra cement” to knock me onto awareness and acceptance. When I landed in the snow that day, my skis flew off my feet. They abandoned me. Or did I abandon them? Either way, I had shed my old ways and embarked upon emancipation from prejudices. Now I travel boldly while spreading an awareness of different cultures and people. Not only did I bring awareness to others of their prejudices, but also by the following ski season, I had conquered my own greatest prejudice: I became a snowboarder.
