In the following series of blogs, I’ll tell some of my family stories. What’s my purpose? To strike a chord with you with the thought, the hope, that you’ll remember your family stories. Better still, my hope is that you’ll tell your family stories to your children, your grandchildren, and even your great-grandchildren. It’s our stories that bind us together as family.
Do you remember the coldest winter you’ve been through?
For me, it seems that life began at 4 years old. That’s when my memory of stories began. And with it The Winter. It was epic.
The first signs of the storm began crisp and cold. But soon the north winds swept in and took away any semblance of decency. The snow began. Softly, quietly at first. But soon a fury, and all was white outside our windows.
When you’re a kid, you have no sense of what all that snow means—traffic delays, dangerous roads, power outages, bitter cold.
No, as a kid, you watch that snow pile up like a playground. Your persistent pleas to go and play are met with a steady refrain of “Are you sure you want to go out and play in the snow?” The truth is that my mom really didn’t want to have to layer me up. Nonetheless, she did, along with my brothers and sister.
Out we adventured into hip deep snow. Our cheeks turned bright red while we fought against the wind, and we sought to build snow caves as breaks from the storm. The playtime seemed to last for hours, but it was probably 20 minutes.
Back we trekked to a now un-layering mom with anguished cries of “Wasn’t it cold out there?!” After wet clothes were stripped off and a new set donned, we returned to our window seat—hot cocoa steaming as ice gathered on the window panes.
What are your memories of your coldest winter? Are they part of your family legacy treasury?
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Published October 12, 2017
Topics: Lessons with Bill