IT’S COLD

I love the winter. I love it because it isn’t the heat and humidity of summer. I like nights that don’t require air conditioning and days that don’t cause you to move slowly because you can work up a sweat: breathing!

But as much as I love the cold, I hate the snow, and it is what makes me crazy.

The other day I was planning to go somewhere after a major snowstorm and I had to think like an Eskimo, throwing a shovel in my car and dressing twice, with double layers. I remember as a kid growing up in Brooklyn and going to school on a cold morning, Mom would make me wear leggings, scarf and hat, gloves and double underwear. Then there were the boots that went on over the six pairs of socks and shoes, which took twenty minutes a foot to put on, all this cold protection for me over a blue tie and white shirt with Aberdeen paints and jacket.  

As I descended the two flights of stairs like a zombie, unable to even bend my knees, the after thought of the farina I had to eat repeating on me, I hit the cold air and slowly made the trip to Stone Avenue, up to McDougal to Broadway, under the train tracks the clamored and clickety-clacked overhead to Aberdeen Street and Our Lady of Lourdes school, while my cheeks froze.

A sacrificial altar if you didn't know your catechism lesson!

In sub-zero temperatures it seemed, I had to wait for the school bell to ring so I could assemble on a line and march into the building, where the steam from the radiators hit you and you knew you were in a place that meant business.

Getting up to my classroom, I would collapse into my seat, my face smarting from the cold and stood to salute the flag and say a prayer, finally sitting down where I was ready to fall asleep.

Falling asleep in the classroom was the last option you took, as the teacher, Ms. Langon would begin by preying on her first-graders over the catechism lesson that was drilled into me by dear old mom the afternoon before. Believe me, it was a long day for a 6 year old.