Free Up by Patricia Ellis Herr

mountains much faster than I had originally anticipated. When I first envisioned the two of us tackling this quest, I figured it would take us at least four or five years to finish. If we keep to our current pace, however, we may reach our forty-eighth summit before Alex turns seven.
    My daughter’s consistent fortitude, determination, and enthusiasm lead me to believe that she will turn into quite the outdoorswoman. Her love for hiking is obvious. She describes her adventures to anyone who will listen, she molds mountains in her sandbox, she draws pictures of smiling stick figures standing on pointed summits.
    Unfortunately, her gusto has become coupled with a dangerous sense of invincibility. During our lastdescent, Alex completely relaxed all her previous standards of caution. To my great concern, she continually skipped over rocks and jumped over slippery roots. She turned her head to talk to me while descending boulders. She twirled her hiking poles through the air with no concern as to who or what was behind her (I got whacked twice). Worst of all, she brushed aside my admonishments with the air of a doctor dismissing a hypochondriac’s imagined symptoms.
    I’ve never been one to hover over my children while they play. If they want to jump off rocks in the park, fine. If they want to climb trees and dangle from the branches, fine. If they want to run down a steep sidewalk, fine. I’m of the philosophy that kids need to define their own physical boundaries and develop their own gross motor skills. While at a playground, I allow them to do whatever they want, as long as they’re mindful of the children around them.
    In the Whites, however, things are very different. Little skips and jumps that are perfectly acceptable on a sidewalk are absolutely verboten on the trail. If Alex falls and injures herself, I will need to carry her for miles over extremely rough terrain. It will be, at best, a long, painful, and very unhappy experience.
    Little kids don’t usually have a sense of drastic consequences, especially when they’re feeling strong and powerful. You can say, “Mind what you do or some awful thing might happen,” but their brains won’t really comprehend what you’re telling them. It’s finallybeginning to dawn on young Alex that her abilities far surpass those of most others her age, and, unfortunately, she seems to think she must therefore be superhuman.
    I’m happy she’s proud of herself, but I want her to understand that she can break a leg just as easily as any other kid. She needs to speak with someone who has been in her position. Someone who was also a strong athlete at an incredibly young age. Someone who, in his youth, also thought he was indestructible—and ended up paying an enormous price for his overconfidence. She needs to see, with her own eyes, the potential consequences of split-second mistakes.
    She needs to speak with her father. It’s time for him to explain to his children exactly how he lost his legs.
    I sit the girls down on the living room couch one evening and ask Hugh to tell them the story of his 1982 accident on Mount Washington. The same story he has told numerous times to journalists, nightly news reporters, and TV/film directors. The story that is well documented in Alison Osius’s book,
Second Ascent
. He has told this story so many times and relived this tragedy for so many people … but tonight, the recounting will be unique. His audience won’t be some stranger from NBC News, NPR, or ESPN. Instead, it will be his own beloved and adoring daughters.
    The girls, being very young, have never inquired about the artificial limbs they sometimes help their father attach each morning. I suppose they’ve viewedhis residual limbs as completely normal—some people have biological legs, and some don’t. I’m not sure they’ve ever even realized that their father used to have human legs.