“We aren’t taking you, “said Jim, in a rude voice. Jim always talks like that when he gets into a quarrel with me. It was winter in Massachusetts, a place where it snowed all year, and we never got to know when it was winter without considering the calendar. It was mid-December and my brother Jim, with his friend, was going snowboarding upon a frozen lake beside a park in Springfield. Jim and his friend Tim study in the same school, though Tim is much smarter. They were going snowboarding on the frozen lake of Johannes Lakers, and thought I was too childish to go there, and would fall through the soft ice with my heavy body into the water, and freeze to death. I am only two years and one grade younger than Jim.

After wasting half of my prized day convincing mom to let me go with them, mom finally did allow me, but only if I was to go there and watch them skate. We reached there by 4 ‘o’ clock in the evening, wrapped up in furry coats and mufflers. Tim tied his feet to the shiny new skateboard that his mother had gifted him for his birthday, and started skating, followed by Jim. Tim was faster, as he was an experienced skateboarder, trained in the institution named ‘Springfield Academy of skating.’ Tim speeded forward, while my brother was following him, with a look of nervousness on his face. But my brother can never stand being left behind. He pushed forward, with all his might and bravery, but couldn’t reach his friend. At that moment, Tim went across a precise zone that was somewhat going to melt down into the lake. He slowed down, turned back, and advised Jim to avoid that area, but my brother did not pay heed to him. When he came across that place, he slowed down too, for which the ice melted and hauled him inside the lake. Tim and I rushed to the spot, and with the help of some cub-scouts, pulled him up. My weak brother was shivering to death by the time he reached home. From then on, mom never allowed me to go skating in the ice again.