LET IT SNOW!

Childhood winters were different for us Boomers. It was not just that we walked five miles through a blizzard to get to school (uphill all the way). It was not just that we had more snowstorms (thanks, climate change). It was not even that our winter wear was the absolute height of unfashionable (we were all dressed like Elmer Fudd). It had to do with Mother Nature's greatest gift to children - The Snow Day.  Gather 'round, youngsters, but wait while I grab my snowman-shaped mug filled with Cocoa de Kahlua, the official winter drink of divas of a certain age. Then, I shall regale you with tales of those unexpected  winter holidays of the 50's and 60's.

Haute couture for the 50’s child

In those days, school closures were announced via radio - AM radio, to be exact.  We did not have the luxury of  a news ticker crawling across the bottom of the TV screen listing closings and delays in tidy alphabetical order.  Instead, we had to sit with our ears pressed to the radio speaker, shushing our siblings, as we awaited the garbled announcement that there would be no school on this treacherous winter's day.  However, because many mothers had neither the patience nor the desire to hear the wondrous news, radios in some households remained silent as some of us were bundled up and sent out the door to catch a bus that was never going to arrive. Fortunately, there was an unspoken rule that if we waited until we could no longer feel our toes, we were allowed to return to our houses. NO SCHOOL!

“Mom! The radio says our Catholic school is closed!”

Since cable TV and video stores hadn't been invented yet, the Committee For the Sanity of Neighborhood Mothers agreed it was best to kick us all outdoors. The day began with sledding. If we wanted to go to the good hills, we had to hoof it as our mothers were in no mood to chauffeur us around town. But, there were plenty of steep driveways that ran right into the street that could serve our purpose. Most of us had at least one wooden sled per family, and a few even had a round metal contraption that should have been called The Saucer of Death. After several trips down the best driveway, some of which involved nearly decapitating another child under the metal sled runners, some adult or other  would put an end to our enjoyment by insisting we were going to get hit by a car if we kept it up. 

The next alternative was ice skating. Again, no one was going to drive us to the pristine pond at the city park  so we had to be resourceful. There were "creeks" (aka drainage ditches) behind a few of the neighborhoods, so we would use these for our own personal ice-capades. The ice was lumpy and, as a rule, there were protruding rocks and downed tree branches to add to the excitement. While some of us just stood stock still in our skates and looked terrified, the bolder kids zoomed around, grabbing each other's scarves and swinging one another onto the ice. At some point, there would be a broken bone, and that ended yet another thrilling activity. 

Is it even winter without a broken wrist or two? 

After a short break inside our homes where it was customary to strew our winter clothing from the kitchen door to the front hall, our mothers would threaten us with school work or household chores if we didn't find some way to occupy ourselves. So, it was off to build a snow fort. This was fun for exactly 2 minutes. We were required to use cardboard boxes to form snow bricks, a tedious and unproductive chore. In the world of children like The Bobbsey Twins, the bricks came out firmly packed, a brick-layers dream! In the world of children on my block, the bricks came out in useless lumps that fell apart on contact. Eventually, the older kids would just start rolling snow to make walls,  then lured us younger siblings into the middle to trap us behind the gigantic snowballs. That led to us small ones begging to be released, threatening to tell, and finally screaming bloody murder until we heard the sound of a back door being flung open. At this point, the bullies would move a snow ball to allow for our escape, while shouting, "Nothing!" at the inquiring adult wanted to know exactly what was going on out there.

Gluttons for punishment, some of the boys would start a snowball fight. I'm not talking about the charming events depicted in Hallmark Christmas movies where delicate puffs of cotton are tossed playfully at one another. No. This was war. Ice-packed weapons were not off the table. Nor was using the smaller children as the first line of defense. Within 10 minutes, someone or other had been hit in the eye with the equivalent of a rock, some small child was sobbing because they lost a mitten in the milieu, and at least two older boys were wrestling and threatening to kill one another. As if by divine intervention, we were all called in for dinner.

Death to the enemy!

That night, after we were all warm and fed, and our mothers were in better moods thanks to pre-dinner martinis, we reminisced. Wasn't it the greatest day ever? Sure, there were no plates of warm cookies or toasty mugs of hot cocoa. No parents lugging the sleds back up the hill for us. No Zambonis or warm fires glowing in rusted barrels at the artificial skating pond. No adults helping us build award-winning snowmen. No gathering around the TV with popcorn and cider to watch a winter-themed film. We were left to our own devices on a one-day escape from the rigors of school.  It was feral and scary and a tiny bit dangerous. The best! And, of course, each Snow Day ended with a special prayer: 

“Please give us another Snow Day!

“Please send them back to school!”

Keep warm and stay safe, friends!