Recently, the night before a forecasted snowstorm, I found myself wishing for a snow day. I sat in bed refreshing the weather app repeatedly, consumed with excitement as it reloaded. I felt like a child again as I wished for the projected snowfall total to increase. And now I'm convinced the magic of a snow day outlasts childhood—I feel it at forty years old as strong as I did when I was little.Some of my earliest memories are of my father pulling me in a sled across the snow-filled yard.
This year, after two winter seasons without snow, I was back in my seventh-grade mindset, eager for snow to fall again. I told my nine-year-old that if we did a snow dance, the likelihood of a day off from school increased, so we giggled as we spun around three times in both directions. That evening, I fell asleep with the song No School Tomorrow playing in my head repeatedly, just as I had countless times during childhood.
I reminisced about the joy of receiving the early morning phone call. We'd wait eagerly in the 1980s and 1990s as the phone chain unraveled. Glued to the television screen, we'd watch for our school's number to appear. One by one, memories flooded my mind as I remembered the most wonderful days of my childhood—snow days.The morning after my son and I partook in the snow dance, we woke to a white lawn and snowflakes falling from the sky.
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