Snow


When I was a –year old, we had our first snow fall of the season. My family Jumped into their winter clothes and dashed outside. Me, in my puffy pink snow suit. My dad shouveled, my mom built a snowman and Peter and Erik made a fort.
I ate the snow.

When I was three I got hit in the face with a snowball. It was wet, cold and left a red mark for a few days. Peter said he meant to hit Erik.

When I was four, I learned how to ski. I fell a few times, but by the age of five, I was zipping through tree trails.

When I was six, I crashed into a picnic table while sledding. I was immediately driven to the hospital and then got six stitches, straight across the forehead. I guess you could say I felt like Harry Potter.

When I was 9, I switched from skiing to snowboarding. I definitely fell a lot with this, but by 11, I was good enough to keep up with my brothers.

When I was 12, we went on an Alaskan cruise with my Grandmother. Every morning around 6, she and I would bundle up, walk out onto the deck, and watch the snow and ice fall from the glaciers.

When I was 13, she passed away. That winter it didn’t snow.

When I was fourteen, I was in charge of lighting the Christmas Luminaries. It was a street tradition. Every house would line up little candles in brown paper bags on the side walk. The flickering yellow lights reflected off the white sheets that covered the yards.

When I was fifteen, we took a trip to Atlanta to visit my cousins for Thanksgiving. On Thanksgiving night, it snowed. Everyone one of my relatives were mad.
I wasn’t.

When I was sixteen, It snowed so hard, that we had no school.