I remember being in school during the wintertime for the newsfeed at the bottom of the TV screen to read out the daily closings after a big snow fall.
Come on come on. Please be closed. Please
be closed. SUCCESS!
My school would announce its closing and
the fun could begin. I would go out into the garage— where it was freezing—without
any shoes or socks on; just my Ninja Turtle pajama pants. Ripping open the
closet I would find snow pants that were way too short for my legs and didn’t exactly
zip up in the front. I’d throw on one of my mom’s jackets from the early 90s [we
weren’t allowed to play in our good coats]. After slapping on a knit hat,
spit-smelling scarf and holey gloves it was finally time to sled.
We have the best hills around my house.
Bumpy, filled with holes and a smattering of trees, along with the most
dangerous paths that caused hours of fun. Sometimes I wish companies would call
mandatory snow days. Come on corporate America; give us an ounce of our
childhood exuberance back. If only for a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment