About 10 years ago, a movie called "Snow Day" was making the rounds of the theaters.
I never saw it, but, judging from the trailer I have attached to this post, the humor appears to be aimed primarily at the very young — which is probably appropriate, since that is the group that seems to benefit the most from a snow day.
But I guess, for someone like myself who grew up in the South, it's a little baffling to imagine upstate New York being unprepared for a snowstorm, even a really big one like the one that is supposed to be poised to strike this week. I've never lived in the Northeastern U.S., but, in my experience, snow doesn't typically impair the ability to function in places in that part of the country unless it is unusually heavy.
But snow or ice — or even the high probability of it — can be enough to throw Southern towns into a panic because, unlike Northern communities, they are not prepared for it. Most Southern towns don't bother to invest money in equipment that may be needed one or two days each year.
My hometown was hesitant to make such a financial commitment during the relatively good economic days that prevailed when I was a child. I can only imagine how resistant my town would be to that kind of expenditure in this economy.
Snow days were almost annual events in the central Arkansas town where I grew up. That didn't always mean that we got any snow. Sometimes the threat of snow was so great that the local school board decided to err on the side of caution. That was understandable. They had to concern themselves with the safety of the school buses that had to pick up children in remote locations — and there were quite a few of those children, too. If they decided it looked too risky, they'd call off school the night before.
But sometimes they would make us wait until the last minute.
One of the great things about a snow day, as far as I was concerned, was that I could stay in my warm bed underneath the covers instead of having to get up before the sun did and get dressed and, eventually, go out into the freezing temperatures to stand at the bus stop and wait for the school bus. If conditions jeopardized some of the bus routes or appeared likely to, the entire school district would be given the day off, but that was frequently a last–minute decision.
Obviously, I preferred the snow days that were announced a day ahead of time.
On occasions when the situation was still iffy and no pronouncement had been issued, I was up earlier than I usually was on Christmas. I would go to the window and look outside, often returning to my bed disappointed because I saw no snow on the ground and was convinced that, far too soon, I would have to get up and go to school as usual. It was like going to bed on Christmas Eve only to wake up and find that the Grinch had stolen all the gifts and the tree.
On those mornings when there were indications of snowfall outside but no school cancellation had been announced, I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my mother and my brother, no one speaking, everyone listening to the radio, waiting for word from the superintendent. Those were the days before the internet, before e–mail, before text messaging, before cable access — before all of the modern methods for spreading such news. We only had AM radio to rely on for that kind of information, and, if the superintendent made no announcement, we had to assume that there were no changes in the schedule for that day.
So I can relate to the reactions of the kids in the movie when they hear that school has been canceled for the day, no matter how they hear it. And it brings back memories of my childhood.
Most of the time, when I was a kid, my friends and I played touch football on our country road. On the rare occasions when we got significant snowfall, though, we played tackle. The snow cushioned us, along with our layered clothing, and we didn't have to worry about the occasional car coming through and interrupting the game.
None of us owned sleds, but I remember one snow day when one of my friends had a large cardboard box that had been used to ship something sizable. We disassembled the box and used a big piece of it to slide down slick hillsides.
After a morning of playing in the snow, I remember coming in to the warmth of my home and feasting on a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. That may not sound like much, but the warmth of that really basic food was exquisite. Truly a simple pleasure.
Based on Facebook posts from many of my old schoolmates who still live in the area, they've been getting a lot of snow this winter — more snow, apparently, than we used to get when we were growing up.
There were, as I recall, years when we had a lot of snow. There weren't many of those years. I can remember times when we might see snow once or twice — and it would melt before it hit the ground. That was far more typical.
With that memory firmly lodged in my memory, it is hard for me to imagine the kind of snowy winter folks in my hometown have been experiencing this year.
But clearly they have been dealing with an unusually snowy winter. I wish them well.
And I hope the younger generation enjoys its snow days. Unless things have really changed — unless climate change is more than a theory — I wouldn't count on this every year.
