Snow Day

March 3, 2014

Greetings from the drift,

For those of you who live anywhere above the 37^th parallel, the concept of winter is a familiar one.  Yes, there are varying degrees of the season, but we generally have some idea as to what to expect.  However, this year, no matter what version of winter you are accustomed to, almost all of us got something more robust.  More raw.  More frigid.  More windy.  And more snowy.

Here in the Mitten State, we expect snow in winter, it’s like a tradition.   Well, perhaps more like a curse.  And with that there is the Snow Day.  Capitalized here because it has been trademarked by Michiganians.

When I was growing up I would usually walk to school.  It was an uphill hike, through dangerous Snapping Thorntrees, past packs of Tyrannosaurus Rex.  And in the winter, it meant wading through waist-high banks of snow, often carrying an enormous backpack filled with heavy, inaccurate, social studies textbooks.

In those times we were required to go to school for 533 days per year, according to state law.  (This was before there was such a huge emphasis on math.)  Any days that were missed would have to be made up the following year.  The predominant thinking in that era was that the longer we were in school the less time we would be counted in the unemployment statistics.

School never closed.  Not for torrential rain, or fire, or insurrection, or icy roads, or the Bay of Pigs drama.  Not for lunar landings or lighting storms. And snow?  If schools were ever closed because of snow, it could only mean that the snow was so deep the custodians could not find the roof of the school to begin excavation.  Or they had been devoured by a T Rex.

Nowadays it seems that the schools are closed for almost any reason.  30 below zero?  Close the school.  Wind messing up student’s hair?  Close the school.  Power outage, flooding, or widespread chafing due to dry air: close the school. 

And snow?  I think the standard now is this: if the snow is higher than the soles of a student’s flip flops, then The Board of Education is required to close the schools or be charged under the Cruel and Unusual codicils in the Constitution.  (Teachers are still required to report: they are not protected from anything cruel or unusual in keeping with the You Wanted Summers Off Exemption)

 

Michigan kids climbing up to Math Class

Today, once school is cancelled, there are texts and emails and auto-calls and website announcements and TV reports to communicate the message.  When I was in my formative years I went to a Catholic school.  If we wanted to find out if school was closed we were required to walk the five miles uphill through the snow as penance, and it was still mandatory to attend church that morning.  The reason churches have tall bell towers was so that they would rise above the snowbanks and we would be able to find our way down into the sanctuary. 

For most parents, a snow day is chaos incarnate.  It means schedules are thrashed, work responsibilities subjugated, and appointments cancelled.  Picture juggling with your hair on fire and you get the gist.

For teenagers, a different perspective.  If you ever doubt the telepathic abilities of the American teen, I submit the Snow Day as proof.  The moment a school administrator thinks the words ‘close the school today’ teenagers everywhere in the district are already falling back onto the pillow for another eleven hour of sleep. 

But perhaps the most important cadre affected by the Snow Day is the Little Kids, capitalized here because it is a legally recognized entity with its own lobbyists.  Anyone who is young enough to have their mittens attached to their coat falls into this group.

To these, the snow day represents freedom.  On any other school day, it might be impossible to drag them from their beds without dramatic whining (mostly from parents).  But on a snow day, they are allowed to behave as nature intended.  Liberated from their daily bondage, freed from academic oppression, little kids suddenly possess the energy and enthusiasm normally subdued by learning stuff.

It is for Little Kids that the Snow Day was invented.  In part because once the snow is four feet deep it’s easier to lose a Little Kid, but also because they need the respite.  There is something in their spirit that calls out to be excused from the responsibilities for a day, even for arbitrary reasons like a little too much snow. 

Little Kids need to make snowmen, and go sledding.  They need to have snowball fights and tunnel into banks left by the surly snowplow drivers.  Little Kids need to waddle through the white, red faced, runny nosed, as they explore the world made new by snow.

I’ll admit I am envious that part of the world still says “We should stay home.”

I will grumble and behave like a curmudgeon, befitting my age, but in my heart I am secretly smiling at the thought of a day off from school.  That’s the Little Kid in me.

Hope this finds you making snow angels,

David