Stu got up at four to go to the bathroom.

“It snowed.”

“It snowed?” I bolt upright.

“Snow. Yes. It snowed.”

I jump up and peer out the window. Our roof and the trees are covered in a light sprinkling of snow. Victorian houses look very nice with snow.

“It snowed!”

“Come to bed Thomas.”

I’m not certain why I get so excited about snow. Well I do know. I’ve never had to deal with it year after year. The most I have was at Southern Utah University but even there it wasn’t that bad, although I would slip and fall at least once in the winter.

Growing up in Las Vegas, you just don’t get a lot of snow. However one year in 1977 we did get enough so that schools were closed for a week.  We were out there in our bell bottoms making snow angels and snowmen. We were very protective of our snowman.

I’m seven, Tara is five, Missy is three or four. There was a rumour on our Las Vegas street that there was a snowman killer coming around. Boys knocking over the carefully constructed balls of snow made by little children.

We were very concerned.

One afternoon we heard a noise outside. In the front yard.

Where the snowman lived!

We shrieked, “Mommy! A boy is knocking over our snowman!”

My mother flung open the door, “YOU LEAVE MY BABIES SNOWMAN ALONE!”

There was a boy there.

Our paperboy.

Our learning disabled paperboy.

We didn’t get a newspaper for a long time after that.

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