I don't care for winter weather. It requires too much work and preparation: the extra layers of clothing that take an hour to put on and then you sweat; the moisturizer you need when your skin dries out to the point of cracking and bleeding; the rampant assault of cold and flu that forces you to wash your hands ten times a day, only making them colder and drier...
About once a year we get a really big snow storm that leaves a foot or two of snow on the ground. It's strange that even nowadays, when a big storm is pending, I experience a fleeting echo of the childish excitement I would feel when I was younger. What is it about the snow that is so enticing? It's like the human brain is programmed to equate snow with fantasy and wonder. For a kid, it means, most importantly, a potential Snow Day. That, in itself, makes it a miracle. But there are so many other quintessential snowy activities to partake in: snowball fights, snowman building, sledding, ice skating, and igloo construction. These are the things I want to do. These are things that, if my understanding of American culture is accurate, kids are supposed to enjoy doing in the wintertime.
Except, despite the exhilaration I would feel before a big storm, none of these ideas ever came to fruition. In my youth, I was a short, plump asthmatic. The weight of the extra layers of clothing, alone, would have me panting before I got to the door. On the occasion of a Snow Day, I would not be allowed to sleep in and then go play in the snow. Instead I would be woken up even earlier than I would normally get up for school, so that I could start shoveling the driveway and a path for the dogs to go to the bathroom. By the time the sun was up, I was sweating and wheezing, my face was numb, and my back was throbbing.
As for those classic American winter activities, let's see. I tried to build a snowman once, in my back yard, with my brother. The thing is, when you have dogs, there is poop and pee everywhere; and when it snows, it's hidden or harder to pick up. But, being a kid, you don't really consider this, until you have a big beautiful boulder of snow...with smelly brown and yellow patches on it. Sledding is a sick joke, I assume created by lazy parents, as a way to exhaust their children's energy while they're outdoors. You drag your sled (and your short, round self) to the top of a hill, only to slide back down again. Best case scenario, the ride last five seconds, as compared to the ten minute trek to the top. Worst case scenario, you sink into the snow at the summit and have to thrust yourself forward until gravity changes its mind, but then the sled gets offset by your foot holes on the hill and you end up tumbling off a few times on the way down. The one time I tried to make an igloo, I had to make a pile of snow first, and then hollow it out. I was so exhausted from shoveling that the made was too small. In an act of desperation I hollowed it out anyway, to find that only my head and shoulders could fit inside. Ice skating is another activity that should only be allowed for the skinny and flexible. By the time my second skate touched the ice, I was already on my ass. 90 percent of the experience was me floundering around on the ice trying to stand back up, while everyone else glided around me. As for snowball fights, well, they required a group of friends, something I never had when I was little.
The worst thing about the snow is how freaking cold it is. You're never really dressed warm enough, and no matter what, there is some amount of skin exposed that gets even colder. I wear glasses, and when the wind blows, snow curls around the edges of the frames and viciously stings my eyes. And there is always a piece of wrist that appears between the jacket and glove that inevitably gets snow on it; when I try to wipe the snow away, it just goes underneath the sleeve. I want to go out there and play around for a few hours, but after five minutes I am cold, exhausted, and uncomfortable. Why, snow? Why are you so deceiving?
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