Snowman

It was that song. If it wasn’t for that stupid song, I would have never been in this situation. The moment it started playing, the song, and the idea, was stuck in my head. It just kept playing over and over again in my mind. It asked a very simple question and I had to respond. “Do you want to build a snowman?” The thing is, I did want to build a snowman. I really did. I know, I know. Now the song is stuck in your head too. Forgive me. I promise, it will go away. Eventually.

The storm had recently dropped 1 foot of that perfect snowball snow. It was time to show my son how to have some real fun. Gregory had never built a snowman before. When I was a child, I built one every year. I would have so much fun that I’d refuse to go back inside for hours.

We made the first one just like any other snowman. 3 balls of decreasing size. But I wanted to show him how to make one with legs. I started with a 5-gallon bucket to shape the legs. As soon as I did, the snowball fight started with the kids down the street.

I was bigger. I was taller. I was stronger. There was no way “we” could lose. There was no “we”. My son joined them. I was outnumbered. Every snowball I threw only came back 15-fold. My own son buried me in the snow.