"Norwegians are born with skis on"

“We will go skiing tomorrow,” I announce in a happy mood, “just the two of us.”
“No, we will not,” she responds in a clear refusing way.
“Oh, yes we are,” my voice a little less enthusiastic this time.
“Why? You can’t force me! I hate it, I’ve always hated skis!” her voice is in an angry shrill tone.
I know it’s meaningless to continue, to try to persuade her. I didn’t like skiing either, when I was at her age. But every Sunday, the whole winter through, my family went skiing. As the youngest, I was always at the very back on these Sundays.
As years passed, I learned to appreciate skiing, to get sweaty, sit by the fire, suck the sugar lump I’d dipped in dad’s coffee, surrounded by a landscape covered in white.
I want so badly to transfer this heritage to my daughter. But, no way, tomorrow’s skiing will be on my own - as usual.