Caught in the Act
Nancy, 79
Winter
with snow and ice is not something I enjoy. During childhood, however,
snow and ice meant fun—the fun of playing in the snow—catching
snowflakes on my tongue—sledding on the street behind our house—making
snow sundaes—and sliding on an improvised cardboard sled.
Tumbling into the house as we arrived home from school, Dave and I were still giggling and animated from our adventure on the way home from school.
Coming into the entry where we sat taking off our outer wraps, Mom asked, “What are you two so excited about? And why are your coats and leggings so wet?”
“Uh-oh,” I thought. “Mom’s really upset with us. What should I tell her?”
Her reaction to our enthusiasm and the sodden state of our outer wear, which I had ignored until now, had me thinking of what to tell her to avoid certain punishment.
Stating the truth—sort of—I said “We fell on the icy sidewalk by the butcher shop as we were walking home from school.”
To our relief, Mom accepted my semi-falsehood. We were not in trouble, although Mom was obviously upset about the drenched state of our only winter wear.
The next morning as we donned our outerwear before we left for school, Mom admonished us to keep our outfits dry. Knowing we would be in trouble if we came home wet again, we promised Mom to do our best to stay dry.
We did well coming home for lunch—no incidents of “falling on the ice.” However, as we started home at the end of the school day, temptation, in the form of a flattened cardboard box, overwhelmed us.
“Dave, we can sit on this cardboard and slide down the hill without getting our snowsuits wet,” I told my brother with enthusiasm.
Tumbling into the house as we arrived home from school, Dave and I were still giggling and animated from our adventure on the way home from school.
Coming into the entry where we sat taking off our outer wraps, Mom asked, “What are you two so excited about? And why are your coats and leggings so wet?”
“Uh-oh,” I thought. “Mom’s really upset with us. What should I tell her?”
Her reaction to our enthusiasm and the sodden state of our outer wear, which I had ignored until now, had me thinking of what to tell her to avoid certain punishment.
Stating the truth—sort of—I said “We fell on the icy sidewalk by the butcher shop as we were walking home from school.”
To our relief, Mom accepted my semi-falsehood. We were not in trouble, although Mom was obviously upset about the drenched state of our only winter wear.
The next morning as we donned our outerwear before we left for school, Mom admonished us to keep our outfits dry. Knowing we would be in trouble if we came home wet again, we promised Mom to do our best to stay dry.
We did well coming home for lunch—no incidents of “falling on the ice.” However, as we started home at the end of the school day, temptation, in the form of a flattened cardboard box, overwhelmed us.
“Dave, we can sit on this cardboard and slide down the hill without getting our snowsuits wet,” I told my brother with enthusiasm.
In his 6-year old wisdom, he agreed with me.
We came to the hill which, to our delight, was still icy. Putting the cardboard down and sitting on it, I launched myself down the hill. I trudged back up so Dave could take a turn. We did a few slides before the cardboard began to disintegrate. Animated and happy with our icy adventure, we walked the final two blocks to home.
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