The Only Kid

Levi was livid when he burst into the house after school yesterday. He started yelling at me immediately. "It's a freakin' blizzard out there! Why didn't you pick me up after school? I was the only kid who had to walk home in the snow! I'm freezing! What the **** were you thinking?!"

After I let him know, very clearly, exactly what I was thinking, I sent Levi to his room to calm down. I called him downstairs a little while later, insisted on an apology for his disrespectful behavior, and fixed him a cup of hot cocoa. I even unlocked the safe to get a handful of precious marshmallows to add to his hot drink. (Marshmallows in the safe? That's a story for another time.)

Then, as Levi sipped his cocoa, we discussed his frustrations a little more calmly.

First, I made sure that he understood the meaning of the word, blizzard: a lot of snow, frigid temperatures, and high winds, which can lead to poor visibility, disorientation, frostbite, and deeply drifting snow.

Let's see, it was snowing hard yesterday afternoon, with beautiful, big flakes piling up rapidly on the ground. I would guess that we had about six inches of the fluffy white snow under foot when Levi was making his way home from school. It didn't quite reach the tops of his boots. And there was no wind. None. A rarity for a snowy day in Gering, Nebraska, but still, no wind. And the temperature hovered at a reasonable 25 degrees most of the day. 

When he left for school yesterday morning, I made sure that Levi was wearing his warmest winter coat, decent snow boots, wooly gloves, and a stocking cap that covered his entire face with a mask to keep him snug and toasty. There was no chance that he would get frostbite or (shudder) die from walking four blocks through the falling snow.

Next, we discussed safety. I could only imagine the glut of vehicles lining the unplowed streets, waiting to pick up the kids after school. Parking is totally inadequate at Lincoln School on the best of days but, on a snowy day--forget it! I would have had to park at least two blocks from the school. Levi would have been halfway home before he even reached my pickup. And that number of vehicles driving on such slick, congested streets is an accident just waiting to happen. But more important than all of that, since my recent eye problems have surfaced, I can't see well enough to drive safely during stormy weather. When it is snowing hard, all I see is a white blur. So, when we are blessed with significant snow, I don't drive. Period.

As I thought about it, I realized that Levi's current attitude is partially the result of my work situation. When he attended Cedar Canyon School, four miles outside of town, he was bused between school and daycare every day. And when he joined me at the new Lincoln Elementary building three and a half years ago, we always drove to and from school on the days when wintry weather was predicted. Until last May, when I retired from teaching, Levi had never had the opportunity to walk home in the falling snow.

I reminded Levi that all three of his sisters (and his mom and dad, too, for that matter) had walked home from school during snowstorms. In fact, we had all loved walking home in the snow with a group of friends, stopping along the way to catch snowflakes on tongues, making snow angels, throwing a snowball or two, maybe even building a snowman in the front yard before heading into the house for some hot cocoa.

I told Levi stories of when Bill and I lived near Traverse City, Michigan, where winter started right after Halloween, where it snowed every day for months on end, and we might not see the bare ground again until mid-May. In Traverse City, even my kindergartners could put on their boots and one-piece snow suits independently and efficiently, because they did it several times a day for half the year. In Michigan, where the wind rarely blew, and wintertime temperatures seldom strayed from the twenties, we didn't let a little snow, or even a lot of snow, keep us inside. School kids and their teachers went outside for recess every day. They built snow forts and snowmen, played King of the Hill, and Fox and Geese. Most of my students were as comfortable on skis as they were in snow boots. In northern Michigan, where winter seemed to never end, we were astounded by God's breathtaking creation; we embraced the snow.

Levi still insisted that he was the only kid in the whole school of 450 students whose mom made him walk home in the snow. Now, I doubt if that is completely true, but I am quite certain that most of the kids, even those who usually walk, received rides home from school yesterday. And it makes me sad.

We are raising a generation of wimps! And, we are denying our children the sheer joy that comes from staggering through deepening snow, feeling soft, cold flakes touch even colder noses, hearing the muffled stillness in the air and the satisfying crunch of snow under each footstep, stomping through the glaze of ice in the gutter, gazing in awe at a perfectly created snow crystal captured on the palm of a glove-encased hand.

Yes, I know that a fairly large percentage of school-aged kids have to be transported to daycare after school. And I would never expect the youngest children to walk home through the snow unless their parents or capable, older siblings accompany them. I understand all that. But the rest of them, those older elementary students who live just a few blocks from the school, should be allowed, encouraged, no, expected to walk home in the snow. And when they get home, as long as the wind isn't howling unmercifully, they should stay outside awhile, shoveling the sidewalk and building snowmen, pulling the little kids in their snow saucers and throwing snowballs for their dogs to try to catch. Then, after an invigorating romp in the snow, they should be warming up inside, sipping hot chocolate, sharing the highlights of their snowy adventures with anyone who will listen.

Except when we really do have a blizzard.  In that case, I assured Levi that Bill will brave the worsening weather and the hordes of hazardous winter drivers to pick him up from school and transport him safely home. Then, we will hope the next day will be a Snow Day, a wonderful day to build a fire in the fireplace, snuggle on the couch with a good book, and pull out the board games. 

And the day after that, when the storm is all over and he can go to school again, Levi will bundle up and walk the four blocks to and from school, even if he has to trudge through a stretch or two of unshoveled sidewalks. Now that my work schedule doesn't interfere with my parenting preferences, Levi will be walking in the snow. I don't intend to raise a wimp!