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Considering it’s a little after noon on Monday, and I’m writing this column several hours before an impending winter storm, perhaps it’s fitting that the song running through my head right now begins with the words, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful…”
This song, “Let It Snow,” was probably one of the most sung Christmas carols/winter songs in my house as I was growing up. I can still see my mother looking out the window to see the fluffy, white flakes fall to the ground, and I can see my father’s wide eyes as he would sing “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.” Usually we were wishing for an accumulation of some sort so that I could get a day off school.
I heard the Jo Dee Messina version of the song on the radio this morning as I was driving into work, so that’s why I’m fighting the urge to belt it out from my cubicle right now. Though never one of my favorites, this little ditty has always been one to which I could relate — until now.
Though when the weather is quite frightful, a fire is still delightful, the whole “let it snow” part is losing its meaning to me. As a kid in elementary, middle or high school, I’d join my dad in the song and frolic around the house singing it as a prayer of sorts — “Dear God, please let it snow enough to get me out of school tomorrow and enough so that I’ll have something to play in.”
I always loved school, but come on, who doesn’t love a snow day?
You’d think I would have learned in college, but even then sometimes I’d wish for enough snow to cancel classes. And considering it takes a ridiculous ice storm for that to actually happen at the University of Kentucky, I now feel ashamed for wishing that kind of catastrophe on the city of Lexington.
In my heart, I still love the snow, and the sight of fresh flurries always makes me smile, but in my mind, I’m now thinking, “Dear God, please let me be able to get to work tomorrow. Please keep me safe as I drive in whatever is out there.”
I’m an adult now and there are no snow days. Being a reporter, there are especially no snow days because when a decent amount of snow falls, it’s news and someone has to report it. However, I am thankful I’m not in broadcast journalism. Then, I’d have to be out in the frigid temperatures and on camera.
I hope that a few years from now, when I have kids of my own, I can rediscover the joy in that song and in the snow itself. I’d love to be the wide-eyed parent leading the snow-conga line around the house.
Now that I think about it, if you finish the verse, the song kind of makes my point for me: “And since we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let is snow.”
As long as there’s no place to go and it melts off enough before Monday, I wouldn’t mind the snow.
So here’s a different prayer: “Dear God, if you want to send down some of the white stuff, this weekend will be fine, or it might be nice, you know, on Christmas day.”
E-mail Shannon Mason Brock at firstname.lastname@example.org.