Winter wonderland

We're in the midst of our first snowstorm of the autumn. All over the state (and region, really), cars are sliding into ditches and some people are getting hurt. As an adult, snowstorms cause me to (at least mildly) worry about my family and friends.

It got me thinking about being a kid. When I was little, it seemed to snow a lot more and a lot more often.

I remember the snowbanks in the front yard of the house we lived in at the time and how they were always enormous. Dad and my sister Pam would get out there and shovel (Pam still likes to shovel, for some strange reason) and they'd throw the snow up higher and higher.

Then my sisters and I and all the kids of the neighborhood would build elaborate snow forts, complete the piles of snowballs for the next snowball fight, and places to sit, and windows, if we could manage it. I hated getting a snowball in the face more than anything.

I remember going ice skating at the rink next to my grade school. We couldn't wait for the city to brush the new snow off the rink with a big circular brush attached to the front of a jeep.

I also remember being on the rink one night when they were brushing it and having to leap for our lives into a snowbank to avoid getting run over. We were way too close, considering he wouldn't have been able to stop on the ice.

The city would turn the back entrance of my school (the entrance we used every morning and for recess) into a warming house for the rink, so there'd be thick black mats protecting the floors for months at a time.

I remember going out to play with rough wool snow pants on, and coming in with the cuffs and knees so crusted with snow that they would hardly bend. My pants and my sisters' pants would drip and be soaked for ages, drying in the back hallway, next to our mittens and hats.

I started wearing glasses in the third grade, and I remember being outside for so long that when I came in, it didn't seem like my glasses were ever going to thaw out so I could see again.

And since we didn't have money for a snowblower, I remember being resentful of people who did. They had perfect edges where they'd cleared their sidewalks, so we'd walk along to school and purposely kick our feet to knock down the edges. Not enough so they'd have to shovel or anything, but enough so their sidewalk didn't look nicer than my family's.

And then we'd wait for the next snowstorm. With anticipation, instead of worry. But my kids have inherited that mood of anticipation from me. Tomorrow, maybe we'll make a snowman together. And enjoy the beginning of winter.