One and a half years old. Clocking 3,700-foot gondola laps. And catching air as he does so.
Then there is the whole name thing: Kasper Treadway. Gifted the name-right to being a bonafide shred-a-billy. You better rip if you’re named Kasper Treadway.
Sure there is the leash latching him onto his ma or pops, but don’t act like that actually detracts from what the kid (and that is being generous, calling him a kid) is doing — and he lets loose in the bunny park, getting lift-off with no leash in sight.
Wish my parents would have named me Kasper Treadway…
