People who live where there is a lot of snow get used to it, deal with it, and generally begin to despise it when they are so longing for Spring to come. I lived in Colorado for a few years and remember how we got "cabin fever" and hoped each snowfall would be the last until the next winter. The photos and videos of skiers, people building snowmen, having snowball fights, or couples sitting drinking hot cocoa are picturesque and romantic. However, piles of dirty snow, cars coated with road salt, frozen pipes, automobiles that will not start, and slick spots on the sidewalk that wipe you out are a different story. It gets old and wears you down.
On the other hand, most of us who grew up in eastern North Carolina saw snow as an exciting and special treat. At least, that was our feeling as kids. We could go a year or two and not even see a flake so when it finally showed up we were overjoyed. Foremost in our minds was one activity: sledding. Of course, that is a generic term here because most of us did not have sleds.
Tommy Rose had one made out of wood that his dad built for him and it was pretty nice. There were a couple of kids that had those store-bought Radio Flyer sleds, but that was the exception, definitely not the rule. Most of us went sledding on big pieces of cardboard, trash can lids, and about anything else we could find to get us down the hill.We were kids growing up in the fifties and a high percentage of our parents worked at one of the several textile mills that were in our end of town. If they didn't work at a mill they usually did some other blue-collar work. With that being the case, there was never very much extra money. I actually thought about asking for one of those Radio Flyer sleds one Christmas but changed my mind. After all, what if it didn't snow? I could have that beautiful device packed away for a year or more before I ever got to use it. Still, there was nothing much more exciting than flying down that hill on the 700 block of Peachtree Street and feeling that cool wind whistling by your ears. The years passed, I grew up, and I sort of filed away the thought of ever owning a sled. Eventually, I ended up in Colorado but never lost the happy memories of riding that hill...even without a legitimate sled.
After service in the Navy, college, and a few years as a professional musician I returned to my hometown. I was working for the newspaper and the word was out...there was a winter storm approaching. As I made my rounds picking up ad copy from my clients for the Sunday paper, the storm was foremost in practically every conversation. And then it happened. I walked by Braswell Sporting Goods and there displayed on the sidewalk in front of the store were several shiny, new Radio Flyer sleds. I went in and bought one...not the short one...the long one...made so several kids could ride at once....or one good sized adult.
It started snowing Saturday afternoon and by Sunday morning there were several inches on the ground. It was perfect because as the storm came in the temperature dropped. It actually started as freezing rain, moved to sleet, and finally transitioned to snow. That meant there was a good layer of ice underneath the snow. Fantastic....a perfect scenario for a sledding aficionado.
When I got up that morning it was still dark and there was no movement in the neighborhood. I put on a couple of layers of clothes, boots, down-filled jacket, and my cowboy hat. I threw down the last few sips of my coffee and headed out the door with that sled tucked under my arm. The cold wind hit me in the face as I walked from our house on Mill Street over to Peachtree which was only a block away.
When I got to the top of the hill the street lights were still on, Quiet....cold...no movement....just me and that pristine, snow-covered hill. It was like a dream. I began to run, threw the sled down into the snow, and fell on top of it....guiding it with the wooden cross piece that connected to the runners. It was magical as I flew down the 700 block of Peachtree Street. It was as if that 29-year-old man got a little younger with each foot that the sled traveled. I smiled all the way down.
I made several more trips down the hill before it got light and neighborhood kids began to show up to play. Surely, many must have been surprised to have seen so many trails from my sled runners.....especially since it was just me...the old guy, at least to them,.with no kid in tow.
The kid was actually there. He was inside of me...now walking back home pulling the sled behind. Finally, I had been able to do something I had held on to for years. I was as satisfied as a man can be who has been able to fulfill a childhood dream. Probably all of us have something leftover from our childhood that is unfinished business.
These days, at my age, we speak of those things we'd still like to do as a "bucket list". I only have three items that I'd like to fulfill. I'd like to meet the writer, Garrison Keillor, and have an opportunity to have some extended conversation with him. I'd like to meet naturalist Eustace Conway and his sidekick Preston Roberts, and talk to them some, too. Finally, I'd like to ride through the snow in a one- horse open sleigh, probably singing Jingle Bells. That's all.
But what about you? What child-like thing is buried in you that still could be fulfilled? What is your unfinished business? Take a hard look at it then seize the day!
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