When I was ten I thought that snow was magical and mysterious because at the time it was. When I was little snow was happiness for me. Snow meant long nights by the fire curled up next to my dad. Snow meant my mom’s hot chocolate. Snow was more than just some white stuff that fell from the sky, it was the substance that filled my heart with excitement the way it filled my town every winter.
Matt rested his head on my lap as I exhaled a deep breath and laughed. “It’s finally done!” he said with such amazement as he looked up at me. His cheeks were rosy red and snowflakes dusted his long eye lashes as his smile stretched from ear to ear. It took seven hours to complete our igloo and now we could barely move. I must have been ten at the time and my brother only eight, but we definitely didn’t give up on finishing a job. “Finish what you started,” seemed to be our motto that winter. I remember sitting there in the freezing cold looking up at the ceiling of our magical house we created. Seven long hours and neither of us complained. Time went by too quickly that day because before I knew it the sun was setting. There was this one crack in the far wall that allowed the sun to peek through and rest on my face. I was happy. This was the first time I didn’t budge when my mom waved a mug of hot chocolate through the kitchen window. I smiled and looked down at my brother and couldn’t think of a time I felt anymore warmth than I did in that moment. Sitting on that frozen ground with him was my definition of warmth that winter.
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Being ten was a lot easier than eighteen because somewhere along the way I lost sight of things or maybe I grew up, but I got cold and bitter while my family became distant and distracted. Now snow is that inconvenience that shows up too many times a year. My brother will sometimes ask if I want to go outside with him and my answer is always no. I’m either too busy with homework or worrying about my friends and it’s sad. Snow symbolized happiness, warmth, and family. Now it’s almost February and my dad hasn’t made one fire this year, my mom hasn’t made hot chocolate, and I haven’t gone out in the snow. Growing up alters everything. It changes a kid’s perspective including the things they once considered important. People tell me that good grades and college acceptance letters are supposed to make me feel accomplished and happy, but they don’t. No matter where I go to college or what my career will be, having that one special memory with my brother will forever be my happiness.
