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It’ Snow Fun

The Source

Snow used to be fun. What happened? When I was in grade school the very prospect of snow meant joy. The boys in our neighborhood would always build a snow fort in our front yard. We’d planned to make an igloo but could never master the dome. In fact, our fort looked more like Stonehenge after a storm, but when you’re three feet tall anything can fortress-like. Then we’d hurry into the back yard and pee our names in the snow. (Boys only.) I’ll admit that I was the best at this. My brother Keith had more letters in his name and dotting his “I” and crossing the “T” took extra firepower. Our neighbor Johnny had to really strain as he tinkled and wished to heaven that his mom had called him Bob. I read recently that the upcoming generation of kids know little about writing in cursive, thus causing this bladder calligraphy to involve a great deal of starting and stopping. It was fun. All fun. Dad did all the scooping with a blade on the rear of his John Deere, and all we had to do was play in the fluffy stuff. If the snow was deep we’d stomp out an elaborate labyrinth of trails through the drifts. Even when April brought the green grass we could still make out the faint trails where Daniel Boone and Superman had dashed through the January slush. Snowballing has been pretty much forgotten since every child now has his own lawyer, but I can remember that our neighbor Kenny Stauffer was dangerous. Not only was he several years older than the rest of our neighborhood crowd, he was also a pitcher on the Perry High School baseball team. Never get into a snowball fight with a pitcher. Trouble was, the distance between his front yard and our was about the same as from the pitcher’s mound to home plate. If I remember correctly he used us for target practice. And snow ice cream! Oh, the joy of carefully scooping the fresh patch of new snow into one of mom’s saucepans then hurrying it into the kitchen where she’d add the vanilla. If dad was in the house he’d always manage to slip in a drop or two of yellow food coloring, making Keith and I wonder if we were swallowing our signatures. Even after we got our drivers licenses and had to actually drive on the stuff, it was nothing but adventure. Dad had purchased a 1949 Willys Jeep Now I look out upon my snow-laden front yard and my only thoughts are of what it’s going to take to get my car out, what a slick mess it’ll be when it freezes, and what a pile of mush it’ll become ever the temperature ever warms. I worry about getting to town, getting down the steps, and whether the power will stay on during the night. Snow used to be fun. What happened?