Stone Pie (a/k/a The Yelling of the Pizza)

Fig 1 below is a photo of a slice of pizza. Fig 2 is also a slice of pizza. Fig 3 is located at Pisa. Pictured in Fig 4 are the Pisas. Fig 5 is Alex Polizzi. Fig 6 is the frozen pizza section of my local supermarket in Vermont. Everything in the freezer pictured is pizza.

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4

 

 

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Even a five-year-old child would understand the difference between each of these photos and that they’re all pizza, Pisa or Polizzi. Still, take that same five-year-old, put a beanie on their head and then shove their head into what was their older sibling’s helmet, put a pair of goggles on their face that schmushes their face a bit, and make sure that they are wearing enough winter clothing so as to make it impossible for them to nod their head without all their base layers coming untucked, then send them down a snowy slope in ski equipment that is not their own and in which they have spent little time, and their ability to discern the difference between each of the foregoing pizza-like things disappears. Completely. They won’t know the difference between Alex Polizzi and Little Caesar’s, and they won’t care.

I get it, I really do. When we create a wedge with our skis they form a shape similar to that of a slice of Neapolitan pizza. And, granted, some of the kids among our clientele in Vermont and in Wanaka actually know and can identify the difference between Neapolitan and Sicilian pizza slices. Especially the kids from New Haven, Connecticut. Still, through all that gear, straight lining an icy slope, careening headlong towards the fence or base area condo, there isn’t a single child on the planet can process the word “pizza” being yelled at them from behind by an agitated adult. They certainly can’t make the analogical leap to the leg turning movements necessary to create a wedge with their skis in order to slow down or stop. Yelling “pizza” simply is not a recipe for success, and it’s not even a recipe for decent pizza, going to Pisa or to the Pisas, or for figuring out when we can watch Alex Polizzi on television. Having said that, after fruitlessly yelling “pizza, pizza” again and again, we may actually succeed in making the skiing child hungry. For that, again, I recommend New Haven.

As a general rule, it takes some time for young children to develop the ability to analogize on their own. My view is that this general rule holds true in the classroom among children who are wearing school clothing and don’t have their beanie-clad senses isolated from the outside world inside their big brother’s ski helmet. Under those circumstances, the ability to analogize freely happens far later in life, and then only fleetingly. Bear in mind also, all kidding aside, that from inside a helmet kids’ sensory awareness is especially limited – young children really can’t process a wide range of sights and sounds from anywhere but immediately in front of them. These are just a few of the reasons that experienced, well-trained ski instructors try their best to always look kids in the face when giving instructions and find success by telling kids specifically what to do, as in what movements to make.

There are a lot of benefits to skiing in a wedge (formerly known as “snowplow”, “chasse neige” to the French). Though some ski schools in the past have played with ‘direct to parallel’ teaching, the wedge remains an integral part of learning to ski for the first time. In the American teaching system, where we focus on the skills of skiing and develop them from a guest’s very first moments on snow, the skills we use to create a wedge, to manipulate its size, and then to make a wedge turn are skills that remain essential through every skiers entire evolution, from the very beginning to Olympic glory. The skill we use is “rotary”, meaning the twisting of the legs inside of our hips. Twisting of the hips is otherwise known as “shaking your money maker”, but that’s another story.

When we stand next to a child, show them how we twist our legs towards each other to make a wedge while standing still (“toes in, heels out”, etc.), and ask them to do it themselves with plenty of repetition, they learn to do it on their own. When we redo the same process again while sliding slowly together on very gentle terrain, one inch at a time at first, focusing on the movements and not the position, we find still more success. We can call the shape made by our skis whatever we want – wedge, slice of cake, pizza, cucumber, home base, dinosaur teeth, Alex Polizzi, anything – but as long as we make clear at the outset that the goal is to make the movements of turning both their legs inward at the same time to create the shape, and that it results in our being able to slow down and stop, kids will understand and be able to replicate those movements. Once they can make these movements, we quickly progress to turning both legs in the same direction at the same time (“aim your skis over here at me”, etc.), making turns and using those turns to control our speed and to stop. The ability to make a wedge but with balance so poor that a skier cannot yet turn results in what we call “The Death Wedge”, also another story altogether.

Obviously, I’m biased in favor of professionals whose training and experience makes them experts at delivering technically valid, achievable, fun, and safe instruction to kids. Communicating with young children in a way that ensures comprehension, provides enough repetition to generate comfort and confidence, all in a fun way that teaches kids to control where they go and how fast requires great skill on the part of instructors. The upside is, when done well, kids realize quickly that they are responsible for their own destiny on skis - the moment when that happens is a biggie! It’s a liberating and exciting experience, for them and for us.  When we don’t simply yell “pizza, pizza” at them, when we understand and appreciate their skills and abilities as kids in a respectful way, when we deliver the skiing goods to them and open the door to all that skiing can bring, they’ll follow us anywhere as long as we live up to the standard of empowerment we’ve already set. It’s amazingly satisfying to those of us who teach skiing for a living. And, as an aside, that’s all equally true for teaching adults, but you don’t often see kids yelling “pizza, pizza” at their beginner parents.

At the end of the day, as I like to tell kids, I love pizza, I really do, but too much pizza gives me a stomach ache. Let’s leave the pizza for eating, or at least make sure we’re understood when we talk about it. Speaking of which, how far is New Haven from here? I just got back from New Zealand and I desperately need a decent slice of stone pie.