The scene repeated itself again and again, year after year. A child, anywhere between 5 and 18, would land on the next day’s weather forecast, brightening up at the jolly good news delivered by some amateur meteorologist with a strange devotion to doppler. Despite a great deal of snow predicted, every kid knows that you must pull out all the stops to ensure a day of frosty peace. Nothing should be left untried when there's the potential of a day off. From under their pillow, they take out a yellowed copy of the The Snowman’s Bible, a thin pamphlet (Knopf, ©1968) outlining many snowy tales, including that of Jean Neige and his stunning transition from unimpressive Swiss mountaineer frozen solid into the regal image of Old Man Winter.
Prayer alone isn’t enough – not here, not now. A few sacrifices must be made, too. They empty each ice tray from the freezer onto the backyard patio, despite the risk to squirrels and shovelers. An ice try is the closest thing to a Snow God’s collection plate. Yes, there are many Snow Gods, too many to speak of. For each snowflake, there is a deity. There’s Jim McFlurry, Tony Sleet, Geoff Flake, Ava Lanche. They all must be contacted when a snow day is in the offing.
There’s no hot cocoa on the menu either. Every dish must be frozen solid and then picked at with a garden axe to show to the Gods above that you’re serious about taking the arctic plunge. Nothing says I want it to be summer more than a steaming plate of lasagna. For many children, a snow day is their initiation into the sordid world of gambling. With OTB dead and gone, a bureaucratic debacle of the highest order, there are few places to go besides the track or casino to learn the ways of wagering. But when a snow day is expected, every kid closes their schoolbooks, hoping they won’t be necessary during tomorrow’s all-day sledding spectacular. They gamble.
It’s never too early to learn the biggest lesson about gambling, the one thing you can always rely on – that you’ll lose. Eventually and precipitously. Now a generation of kids will grow up without ever knowing what a snow day is. Some loss, if you ask me. As long as your internet connection is semi-strong, it shouldn’t matter whether the accumulation is six feet or six inches, the result must be the same. Be online when the bell rings, or else. There are perks though. While corporal punishment is tougher across Zoom, emotional terror can still reign fairly easily.
Some may say that eliminating snow days deprives children of a fundamental part of childhood – spontaneous joy. But what’s more joyous than an uninterrupted, seamless education?
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