Snow Day in the South

I’m pleased to report that here in Austin, Texas, we’ve survived another snowfall. Thankfully, we’re blessed with an exceptional team of local meteorologists. About two weeks ago, the famed “Prediction Center” and “First Warning Weather” sounded the alarm that it just might snow on Tuesday.

          It did. We got an inch. And the entire city shut down.

          I’m a bit jaded when it comes to these forecasts. Growing up in Dallas, snow was only an occasional forecast treat. Those lucky days felt almost like Christmas because snow meant no school. When you’re a kid and it’s Christmas (unless you’re Tiny Tim in A Christmas Carol), you wake up to a pile of toys Santa left and two bleary-eyed parents trying their best not to be too grumpy the rest of the day.

          But we didn’t always get that lucky. Sometimes, I’d wake up having already planned all the fun things I’d do with the Snow Day, only to look outside and see the same green grass and bone-dry sidewalk you saw the day before. I don’t get seriously angry very often, but I can honestly say that as a child, those mornings would instantly infuriate me. Without fail, as loud as I could, I would blurt out my first reaction:

          “I HATE THE WEATHERMAN!”

          Naturally, in my mind, it was all his fault. What made matters worse was that he didn’t look like someone easy to hate. I always felt the local TV station did this on purpose. Our most popular weather personality was a congenial looking fellow who wore a bow tie and a sweet smile. Later, it dawned on me that this was probably an intentional hiring decision. The station calculated that no matter how incensed the local school children might become over such an unforgivable error, it would be impolite (and thus quite un-Southern) to stay mad at such a nice man for too long.

          I believe this was a smart move. A similar situation happened years later with a rather serious-looking weatherman at a different station, and my niece told my sister in no uncertain terms, “The weatherman is a LIAR!” She still believes that.

          Whenever I got too upset over a snowless snow day, my father would try to console me by saying that being a weatherman is the easiest job on Earth because you can be wrong all the time and still keep your job. When you’re right about a forecast, it’s simply the luck of the draw. I don’t know if that’s true, but it certainly gave me something to think about when choosing a college major.

          Those were the days when it didn’t snow. But what about when it actually snowed?

          HALLELUJAH!!!

          A Snow Day was a glorious day. A big snow in Dallas meant two to three inches. A “record-breaking” snow meant six to eight inches. Regardless of the amount, the entire city came to a grinding halt. 

          It is widely known—certainly true—that Southerners can’t drive in the snow. Some of them think they can, but they can’t. Those are the poor, helpless souls whose cars end up in ditches, eagerly sought after by news reporters when the storm begins.

          On a genuine Snow Day, the weatherman (or woman) becomes the most popular person in town. That popularity brings with it the authority to tell everyone to stay off the roads.

          As a child, I thought this was absolutely great. What I didn’t realize until I was much older with children of my own was that this arrangement meant the entire family (pets and all) would spend the entire day inside the house together. If anyone ventured outside (usually the children), they’d return covered in quickly melting snow.

          In the South, snow barely covers the grass sometimes, but if you’re a child, it’s still absolutely imperative to go out and play in it. You make snow angels and build tiny snow people only eight inches high. However, if you’re not careful, you might not notice that the snow is actually barely covering something the dog left in the yard on a pre-snow bathroom break. Whether it’s dirt or something worse, you’ll come back inside pretty filthy.

          Owning an actual sled in the South is rare unless you’re one of those kids who moved down from the North (which will make you instantly popular). Otherwise, you must “make do,” as we say. Most kids I knew found garbage can lids to be acceptable sled substitutes. Back then, garbage solid metal, which can be a little brutal in the bitter cold. Today’s plastic garbage cans probably work better.

          Unless your family takes ski trips, finding the right attire for a Snow Day can be tough. Since we’re told the day before the snow begins to cover our outside faucets so the pipes won’t burst, it can be challenging to find a suitable pair of socks to wear. Our coats (if we even own one) aren’t meant for Arctic expeditions; they’re more suited for watching a football game in October.  No one owns snow boots, which is unfortunate because even the finest running shoe slides in snow. And gloves? Good luck.

          One of my most cherished photos is of my own son sledding down the little hill at the back of our house dressed in a light jacket, t-shirt, and gym shorts. I don’t recall if he was wearing actual shoes or the slides he preferred on a casual day off from school.

          Yes, snow in the South is a thing to behold. But unlike the past, it may become more common, so we should all probably resign ourselves to becoming more prepared. With kids playing hockey in the streets of New Orleans and skiing on the beaches in Panama City these days, we may need to adjust our ways—and above all, always love our local meteorologist.