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12/05/2003 Entry: "First Snow" It's snowing, it's snowing, yaaaaaaaaay! Right now, it's about 6 inches deep, and still coming down (although not as heavy as it was earlier). They predict another few inches by tonight, and it will snow all day tomorrow. My father always hated snow. Maybe that's what started me liking it so much. My parents grew up in the slums of Chicago, and my father used to speak of 10 foot snow drifts (but nothing about walking barefoot uphill both ways). When we first moved to the DC area, I recall my first snow was a magical event. It started late one evening, and I watched the snow fall to the ground. There was a street light in front of our house, and I'd see the halo of snow gently fall. My mother put on these obnoxious yellow rubber boots, and I ran around, in the dark, in about an inch of snow, enjoying every minute of it. My father got very angry at this, and while he did not expressly forbid me playing in the snow, he complained a lot when it happened. Another snow memory occurred when I was in first or second grade. They closed school because of snow. My mother was kind of drunk and out of it, so my father said, "Go to school." I was about 6 or 7 at the time, and told him the radio said school was closed. This was before I figured out that arguing with him, no matter how much proof I had about anything, was useless. Even when the radio said, "All Fairfax County Schools are closed. All busses have stopped running," my father countered with some story about how that was to separate those who were "serious about school from those who weren't" and this was a test of some sort. He even made it sound like there'd be some sort of reward in it for me when I got there. The snow must have been about a foot deep, and it was coming down pretty hard. I stood by the bus stop for a while, and one car slowed down and said, "Didn't you know there's no school today?" I didn't say anything, and didn't even make eye contact because I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. The man eventually gave up and drove off. When my father passed by my bus stop, he laughed and said, "Greg-gry, no bus is going to pick you up. You'll have to walk." When I cried that it was too far, he told me that this was nothing. He had to walk in deeper snow in Chicago, and they would have NEVER closed school for something as mundane as snow. My crying made him angry, and he told me I'd be late and get in trouble if I didn't start walking NOW! So I walked to school. It was about a mile, and the way was pretty straight, and most of it did have sidewalks. It might have been slightly uphill, and because I didn't know any better, I just walked down Southridge to Great Falls Road, and followed Great Falls to school. It wasn't a bad walk, really. My school bag swung by my side (for reasons unknown to me, until sixth grade, my school bag was a series of bowling ball bags my mother would find), and I tried to walk in areas where the snow was shallow. I stopped to rest here and there for a few moments, then trudged on. I recall thinking how peaceful everything was. There was a soft silence, interrupted only by a rare passing car driving slowly in the crunchy snow that sounded like squeezing a bag of cornstarch. All sounds were muted, and the fat, gentle flakes rested on my face. It wasn't windy, just... real quiet and peaceful. I didn't have a watch, so I didn't know how long it took me, but I am guessing probably about an hour or so. By the time I saw the school, I imagined it would be dry and warm, and I could sit at my desk and Ms. Shanis, my teacher, would be very proud of me that I showed up. The last block was the worst, though, because I had to go through an area where there were no sidewalks, and there was a busy road. I fell a few times, because now the snow was very deep (up to my butt, whereas before I started, it was only up to my knees). The plow had been by, and I had to climb a mushy ramp to cross the road, and I slipped and fell, scraping my face up on the road. I recall I was terrified that a car would run over me, but there was no car in sight. I slogged through the soft and powdery snow through the school parking lot, and when I got to the doors, there was a welcoming committee in front of a warm fire, where cheerful hurdy-gurdy music played, and I got hot cocoa, warm chestnuts, and a trophy... okay, no. Actually, I got to the awning under our front doors, and the doors were locked. Well, one wasn't, but it was chained shut because the lock didn't work. I knocked. I waited. The lights were off. No one came. I sat on the wide stoop for a while, figuring someone would come along eventually. The snow that was already on me was melting through my clothing, and I was cold as hell. I don't know how much time went by, but thankfully, the awning kept most of the snow away from me. This may seem sad, but actually, all I recall was feeling kind of bored. I had a library book in my bag, so I read that over and over. Sometimes I'd go out in the snow, which was now past my waist, and play a little until I got too cold and wet. Finally, I saw a lone figure trudge across the snow in the parking lot. It was a woman in a long, brown trenchcoat. A teacher? Finally? No, actually, it was Mrs. Carlton, a neighbor of mine from across the street. Apparently, someone had told her there was some kid in front of the school, and since she was on the PTA, she was sent to investigate. She was a little shocked it was "the Larson boy" and she incredulously asked why I was there. I told her, and she said, "You have to come home with me! There is NO school, no matter WHAT your parents might have told you!" She took me home, but no one answered the door, so I got to play at her house with her son Pat, whom I knew from school. The rest of the day was fairly fun, and when my father came home, I was sent home, and I pretended like nothing happened. And thus ended my snow adventure. (When my mother got sober later, she was a little angry about the whole thing, but promised me I didn't have to go to school if it was closed on account of snow anymore. For about two years, the plan was if they closed school, I stayed in my room while my mother distracted my father, and he went to work.) Some of the best snows I recall were the "big ones" which used to happen every 4 years or so. There was a big one in 1977, where it snowed several feet, and everything was shut down for a week. My father was even forced to stay home. The sun came out one day, melted the top a little, then refroze so we'd make these tunnels with ice skylights. The most memorable was three huge storms, one right after the other, in 1987. I was trapped at my friend Kate's house for a week, which wasn't so bad. We watched cable TV, made cookies, and watched all of the Pekingese try and deal with snow several times deeper than they were high. We forced our poor friend Jason to walk in the snow to come join us one day, as I recall. Sorry Jason! I still have photos from then, I wonder if I can find them today and put them up? [Added later: here you go!] Oh, and I have put up our Holiday portraits! You can see one of all of us here and the one of just the doggies here.