Since July, I’ve been writing about our family’s efforts to be raised by the mountain; it seemed like years of anticipation had finally passed when, on the day after Christmas, almost-eight-year-old Luke and I stepped up to the camera in customer service for our season passes. My wife Yupin, by virtue of the fact that she’s a full time student, going for the degree in accounting that will one day (soon, we hope) allow us to buy into Jay and Move Up, already had her pass—the kind Triple Major.

Luke’s been saying for months that he can’t wait to get back on skis. Over Thanksgiving, it was, “Oh, I just wish there was more SNOW!” But now that the big day is here, the day after Christmas, he’s feeling nervous. Some of the anxieties from last year have snuck back into his consciousness. You can see it in his eyes. He’s a year older now; he doesn’t want to cry when I drop him off at ski school.

I heard a woman talking about this issue yesterday in the cafeteria, joking that when her kids were little, she worked up more of a sweat getting them ready for ski school and dealing with them crying than she ever did skiing. Last year, it nearly killed me when Luke cried; it made me feel like a bad parent, despite his instructors’ reassurances that it’s a pretty common phenomenon—separation anxiety, right? But then I’d see him later in the day, and he’d be so happy, I always knew I’d done the right thing. I don’t really understand the psychology, but sometimes with kids, with Luke for sure, you need to force them to do the things they really love. So far, Luke has always thanked me later for doing so.

Anyway, our first goal for the 2009/10 season is to get through ski school drop-off without tears. Leading up to our first day, I didn’t want to talk about it too much or it would become a BIG THING, and then we’d have crying for sure. I did ask Luke what he thought would make it easier for him. “I don’t like being the first kid there,” he said. “It makes me nervous.” I told him I’d try to bring him down there as late as I could.

On day one, it turns out, we needn’t have worried. When we arrived, our crisp new passes tied onto our parkas with fancy new lanyard, most of the kids were already dressed, and the instructors were already herding them out the door. We had to race to get Luke geared up in time. We zipped up his bib ski-pants, threw on his jacket, locked in his boots, and—BANG!—there was Ashley to whisk him away. “Bye, Dad!” he called, without even a hint of a quavering in his voice. I waved good-bye, then just stood there, relieved.

We had moved at such a fast pace, I hardly had time to register the changes in ski school’s physical layout. While last year it was something of a cave with old carpeting and its attendent musty smell, the old Golden Eagle pub is the new base-camp for the older kids like Luke. Now, I bartended at the Eagle a couple of times back in ’97. Back then, it was clouded in cigarette smoke and the odor of stale beer. I’m sure for many folks, it holds many lovely memories of the ole apres ski. For me, a recovered pack-a-day cigarette addict, it was Hell. After one big night of work in there, I thought I was either going to get emphysema or be forced to start smoking again. The next day, I transferred over to the hotel bar, where I could breathe. I never set foot in the Eagle since.

So it was a bit freaky to be standing there, watching Luke tromp off with his instructor, in this totally transformed space. There’s not even a hint of beer sludge. The room smells fresh, new, sparkling. The tables and benches might not be as cozy as those of the old Eagle, but it’s the perfect staging area for ski school. It looks much more like a second grade classroom than a bar, and while I’m sure that the atmosphere has little to do with Luke’s ability to run off to his lessons without tears, the room probably feels more familiar to kids. Less cave-like. Less nervous-making. It sure makes me happy, to drop off my son in a more cheerful space. And it’s always great, this early in the season, to have achieved one of your family’s first goals.