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What Happened To The Person That Loved Snow? By: Sandy Dickson

Remember how, on a winter day, you used to live for the snow to fall? You watched out the window, aching to get out and build a snowman.

If snow happened on a school day, you huddled around the radio or TV listening for the announcements of your school being closed, then cheers went up if your school was named. Those snowy days were extra sweet and a warm, joyously exciting feeling surged through your whole being.

It was more laborious, somehow, to get your school clothes on, but with the realization that you had the whole day free, you suddenly scrambled to get your play clothes on—Mom forbade you to wear your good clothes outside. Now you donned your boots, mittens (Mom always said they were always warmer than gloves) a heavy jacket-- leggings or a snow suit if you had one you hadn’t outgrown, and warm gear for your head.

Plunging outside from the warm house, you hardly noticed the cold air hitting your face as you shouted with delight along with any siblings joining you. As you ran to the part of the yard where you decided it best to start your snowball, neighborhood kids often joined you and between you, three snowballs in varying sizes emerged. This was despite that toward the end, they got heavier and much harder to maneuver, but you really didn’t care about that either.

It was always a struggle to lift the second snowball up to form the mid-section of the snowman and it frequently required additional pairs of helping hands besides your own, but somehow, it was always managed. 

Placing the last, smallest ball on top for the head was always the easiest. Now the rest of the fun began.

He needed face. Someone scrambled around for twigs for the arms, if you decided not to make them of snow. Someone else fished around for a couple stones for eyes if the days of coal were long gone, and enough to form a smiling mouth if nothing else was available. You ran into the house hoping to find a carrot for the nose. Now you fished around in a drawer or closet for a scarf and a hat, determined to make your snowman the best ever; or at least the best in the neighborhood.

Now you’ve used up most of the snow in the yard on your snowman, but there is still enough to lie down and make a few snow angels.

Your fingers and toes felt a little numb by now, and your socks may have been a little wet from the snow that managed to find its way in, but it certainly wasn’t time to quit yet.

Snow angels being done, it was payback time for those occasional snowballs hurled at you by your fellow snowman-makers itching for a fight, or come to think of it, retaliation time for anything at all throughout your entire life. Even if they hadn’t done anything to you; better to get them before they get you. It’s time to start a snowball battle.

You formed a perfect-sized snowball in your mittened hand and with as precise an aim as you could muster, you let it fly. Splat. A perfect impact splotched your target’s clothing! Now the fight was on.

Each of you looked for the perfect cover: a temporary fortress behind which you could prepare your arsenal of ready and handy ammunition and still avoid your enemy’s onslaught. That may have lasted awhile, but was soon abandoned for better aim. You were willing to sacrifice the safety of your cover in exchange for a few better shots at your adversary, knowing that you would be more vulnerable, but feeling it would be well worth it.

When you finally went inside, your Mom may very well have had a nice, steaming bowl of soup for you, and if you were really lucky, it might be the day she decided to bake cookies, and they were still warm. You can still remember that captivating, alluring smell. You always managed to swipe a couple before she told you that you had to wait or you’d spoil your meal.

There was still plenty of snow left for the other winter things you loved: sledding down the nearest hill with a sparse amount of trees, ice skating on some nearby pond or playing Fox and Geese in a large expanse of snow: that’s the game of tag played by tromping out a big circle in the snow, then paths that criss-cross through the middle like cut pie pieces wedges. One person is ‘it’ and has to chase the others around the paths, with the middle being the goal or resting place for people running. If the ‘it’ person tags someone else, that person becomes ‘it.’

You were pretty exhausted by the end of the playtime, but it was well worth it. You swore you didn’t understand why grownups didn’t like winter. At least they always griped about it. And you never saw grown-ups building snowmen or sailing down hills on sleds. You vowed never to be like that when you grew up.

Then you started driving and, unless you work at a school, there was no hovering around the radio or TV to hear if your work was closed. You are now among those people who have bones of contention about winter and snow. Drat!

Copyright © 2007 Sandy Dickson. All rights reserved.