Because of age and physical condition, I confess that I don’t like snow. It hurts my joints and muscles when I have to move it, and its accompanying ice underfoot makes me walk like an old man out of fear that I’m going to fall and break something.
There is a movie that is shown over and over again on TV every year at this time called The Christmas Story about two boys. The older one dreams about and gets a Red Rider BB gun for Christmas. There is a scene in there where the two of them are playing out in the snow. The younger one is bundled up so tightly against the cold that when he falls down in the snow he can’t possible get up again. He just can’t bend enough to get his feet on the ground because he is so bound up with snow pants, scarves and mittens. I was that kid. My mom would get me so bundled up to go out and play in the snow that I could barely move.
Ah, that first snowfall of the winter. How can something that is so dreadful when you are older be so delightful as a child? I guess it’s because our moms bundled us up so tightly that if we fell we couldn’t possibly get hurt, and they aren’t here anymore to do that for us.