Watching the snow accumulate on the streets of New York last weekend, I couldn’t help but think of the snow days of my youth.  A serendipitous chain of events led to me being stuck on the east coast for the better part of a week, and despite the usual travel frustrations that accompany such an ordeal, I managed to have a pretty good time traipsing through the snowdrifts of New York and DC.  Granted, I was wholly unprepared from an attire standpoint, to which my soaked and snow-filled tennis shoes attested.  But the universal anticipation/dread of the coming storm, the falling of the first flakes, and the amazement of the continued accumulation transported me right back to elementary school.

There was no better feeling as a kid than waking up when snow was in the forecast, dashing to your bedroom window, and discovering a thick white blanket enveloping the entire world.  You knew before you even switched the radio over to AM to search for the rarely-used news station that was listing the counties that had announced school closures: there would be no school on this day.  It meant an entire day of freedom.  Free from the worries of the classroom.  Free to wander the streets empty of cars, your trusty Flexible Flier in tow.  Free to seek out the biggest hills and slopes your neighborhood had to offer, peering down “dismemberment gorge”[1] at the treacherous drop below.  Maybe you pushed your brother down the hill first just to make sure it was safe.  Maybe you tried it recklessly on your own and steered into the creek at the bottom of the Strathmore hill and had to hike the uphill mile home soaked to the bone.  Peeling off the frozen or drenched layers of winter wear to bask in the heat of home and the delicious warmth of a mug of hot chocolate (with marshmallows, of course) right out of the microwave.

With the falling of the snow and its ramifications on my travel plans, I couldn’t help but reflect how our reaction to a blizzard, or the potential of one, is a direct reflection of our station in life.  As a kid, you want nothing more than the snow to keep falling.  To justify being out of school for a week.  I can still remember the year in 6th grade when an epic nor’easter munificently liberated us for an entire week from school.  Didn’t matter that we had to add days on to the end of the school year to make up for it—it was bliss in the moment.  Elementary school meant snow forts and sledding.  Throwing snow down the back of your brother’s coat, just because.  Trekking through feet of snow and miles of abandoned suburban streets to your friend’s house to spend the night as school had already been canceled the next day.

Middle school was naturally more contentious, filled with snowball fights and football games.  It was always more fun to play tackle football in two feet of snow because the landings were softer and the padding afforded by our winter clothes gave us a semblance of cushion.  It was like being in the real NFL, minus the concussions and ACL tears.

High school and college maintained the sense of liberation from routine and responsibility, but it also meant that you couldn’t readily get to your friends, now more geographically dispersed, nor could you drive, which was the greatest freedom afforded at 16 and the years that followed.  You could sense yourself edging into adulthood as you weren’t entirely sure that you welcomed feet upon feet of snow.  How were you going to get to your girlfriend’s house, at least a good three miles away (walk, it turned out, was the answer—where there’s a will, there’s a way)?

After college and ensconced the working world, you worried more about the commute.  Digging your car out.  The conditions on the road and the other idiot drivers who couldn’t figure out that following distance needed to be increased and speed decreased given the dangerous conditions.  The sense of ebullient joy now gone, replaced by concern, annoyance, and, frequently, frustration.

A few years ago, when I was living in DC getting my master’s at Hopkins, we had what became known as Snowpocalypse.  A massive snowstorm hit the east coast on February 5, 2010 and effectively shut the city down for a week.  Since I was back in grad school (the 3rd time was not the charm, apparently), I was thrust back into my elementary mentality, waiting anxiously at 7pm every night for the federal government to make the call.  Because our school followed the federal government’s lead, it meant that if the government was closed the following day, we had yet another snow day.  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday night resulted in pure, unrestrained joy: “the federal government will be closed tomorrow.  Emergency personnel only.  All others should stay off the streets and remain home.”  Perhaps it was my imagination run amuck, but I swear I could hear an audible yell each day that sought-after announcement arrived.  I would text my grad school buddies, and we would all head for the closest bar, usually in Adams Morgan on 18th Street.  The combination of snow days and alcohol definitely brought the fun, child-like atmosphere back into play.  In addition to our nocturnal activities, I also witnessed people sledding down 18th street and a massive, hundreds-strong snowball fight in the middle of Dupont Circle.  My brother and I donned our ski goggles and trudged the mile down Connecticut Avenue to join in.  When the cops came to break it up, the crowd ceased flinging snowballs at each other and joined in solidarity to pound the police car with a hail of snowy artillery.  The cop car vanished as quickly as it had appeared and didn’t return.  A victory cry emerged from the crowd.  It was a glorious few days that made me feel ten again.

So this past week, when I was stressing over canceled flights and cursing the half-hour waiting time on United’s customer service line, I made a decision.  I remembered the simple joy that a snowstorm used to represent and decided to steer into the snow day and just enjoy it.  Revel in the glory of another few days off.  I changed my flight from NYC to DC and from Saturday to Wednesday, knowing that I could spend the weekend with good friends in New York and then head down to see my family.

After I let go, I went outside and walked around in the accumulating snow.  My friends and I thought about going out that night but contented ourselves with watching the snow fall and playing a marathon 6-hour game of Risk.  It reminded me of snow days past, playing endless games of Axis & Allies in my best friend’s basement.  Something I hadn’t done in decades but always love to do.  One of life’s simple joys that only a snowstorm seems to bring out.  It’s good to be a kid again for a day or two.  I’ll try not to forget that the next time the forecast calls for snow.

 

[1] For all of you Calvin and Hobbes aficionados out there.