How does it make you feel when you are standing on the lip of something called "Vertical Limit" or "The Wall of Death," trying to plan a route to the bottom that you can ski without being an embarrassment to your Red Jacket, and a group of 5-6 year olds (as you say, pint sized rockets) come flying by, dropping over the edge, (some of them facing backwards so they can continue talking with their friends) paying no attention what so ever to the fact that they are about to ski down something resembling a vertical plate glass window with bumps on it, and manage to do so without interrupting their conversations....
My son was one of those... Born on skis, skiing the lift line by the age of four. Racing by age 8. "Come on, Dad! I'll race you to the bottom!" "Sorry kid, my goggles itch!"
Stitchawl
Stitchawl