In search of snow
Because I grew up with it -- and quickly fled from it upon adulthood -- snow isn’t all that big of a deal to me. My meteorological memory is alive and well, so I don’t need any current reminders. So it is for my Floridian children whom have never experienced the wonder that is snow that we will travel north this weekend in search of the white stuff.
It’s hard for me to imagine my children’s incredulousness at the concept of snow. To this day I have elastic impressions around my wrists from my snowsuit and still have the urge to plunge my feet into a Wonder Bread wrapper on a cold day. (Native Floridians will be lost with the reference, so just read on.) But as children born in the south, my kids have come to believe that snow doesn’t really exist. It is merely an urban legend. As they stand barefoot at the Christmas tree stand, I can see the skepticism in their eyes. When their northern cousins call to say they aren’t in school today because of a bad winter storm, my children know full well hurricane season ends Nov. 30. For them, The Weather Channel and the Sci-Fi Network have exactly the same content.
I can see the confusion on their little faces when they read their northern-centric textbooks that depict the seasons erroneously. Autumn with its falling leaves and winter’s white landscape? It certainly doesn’t look like that around these parts.
These are children who get a chill when the temperature drops below seventy. They don’t swim in water that’s below eighty five. They know not of frostbite, moon boots, frozen pipes or salt trucks. They don’t have any idea of what happens when you stick your tongue on a flagpole.
Don’t get me wrong--we all rather like our tropical home. We have grown accustomed to green Christmases and uninterrupted electricity from November to April. We like getting out the door in less than three hours since the only thing we have to locate is another flip flop and not mittens, hats, gloves, scarves, road flares...
So it will be a learning experience. We are looking at the whole thing as if it was like a trip to a Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum. A frigid expedition to look not for the abominable snowman, but just for the snowman.
You really hope it’s true, but you don’t feel all that bad being snowed.
-- Tracey Henry, Suburban Diva