One of my most cherished childhood memories of the winter holiday season involved rising early and bolting out of the house without a jacket to ride my bike.
You see, I grew up in sunny San Mateo, California, where the temperatures never dipped below freezing. That meant, of course, snow never came our way. I was furious when I would lay on the floor glued to the family TV and watch news reports of blizzards in the East shutting down schools for months.
“Why do I have to go to school,” I yelled as I stomped off to kindergarten.
It wasn’t until I moved to Arkansas in the mid 1990s — when I was still a young man –— that I witnessed my first snowfall and realized all the fun I was missing.
Well, let me clarify that. It’s only enjoyable if you’re home and not on the road trying to maneuver through the blankets of ice and snow as other cars dart in and out of traffic.
Last year’s snowfall in central Arkansas made up for all the years of winter fun I missed growing up. When I woke up one Saturday morning and saw white on the ground in every direction, I knew I was going to reclaim lost childhood time, even if I received frostbite in the process.
My daughter, Sarah, couldn’t contain her excitement to play in the snow, either. So my wife Holly grabbed a plastic lid from a storage container, and I put the leash on our overgrown puppy, Buster, who is half Rottweiler, and our other dog, Sammie, a beagle mix, and headed out the door.
It still takes me a few minutes to adjust to Arkansas’ bitter cold. When the wind howls, I feel like I’m on the ice planet Hoth made famous by the “Star Wars” films.
Still, we trudged forward looking for the highest point in our neighborhood. We only stopped long enough to fire off a few snowballs. Eventually, we made it to the top of a bike path in the middle of a wooded area that would serve our purpose. We would have Buster and Sammie act as Siberian huskies and pull Sarah down the hill.
Sarah, who was light enough to be towed and only 14 at the time, was all for that. And if it worked I would go next.
Sarah sat on the lid and grabbed the leashes. I told the wild animals to wait while I made it to the bottom of the hill.
Right before I called to unleash the hounds, I froze. I was flooded with flashbacks to the opening of ABC’s “Wide World of Sports,” where that ski jumper practically tumbled to his death each week in the opening credits.
No, I told myself and chased the negative thoughts away. This was going to work.
I yelled at Buster and Sammie to come. They usually don’t do anything unless I coax them with a Milkbone, so I held one up.
The dogs focused in on their treat and raced down the hill. Sarah clutched the rope and yelled, “Faster, faster.”
All three stayed on the snow path, and eight seconds later they were at the bottom of the hill.
Since it looked safe, I thought I would try it. But I guess the dogs were too tired because I barely moved.
That was fine with me because we could walk around the neighborhood, taking in the snowy sights and crunching ice as we stepped.
Now when I hear reports of wintry weather heading to Little Rock, I don’t storm off in a huff but search for my puffy coat, gloves and hat so I can play in the snow.