It was a cold February day in the 1970’s and the forecast called for snow. My brother Shawn and I were determined to manifest a snow day by wearing our PJs inside out, flushing ice cubes down the toilet, and placing spoons under our pillows before heading to bed. We’d do anything for the rare snow day. The next morning, we rushed downstairs to the kitchen, where our Mom was sipping coffee and listening to KYW 1060 on the transistor radio.
As the familiar voice on the radio announced, “All Philadephia public and parochial schools are closed,” we knew we were one step closer to our day off. We sat on the edge of our seats, eagerly waiting to hit the lottery as the voice announced each county’s school closures.
“Delaware County 367, 441, 446, 448, 452, 454, 459, 490, 503… 509 two hours late, 510 open with no transportation, 521, 522″… and on it went county by county.
When our school’s number was finally called, we jumped with joy. It was official! We had a snow day ahead of us! We’d be outside with friends, having snowball fights, building snow forts, and sledding into the night.
It was rare and wonderful.
These snow day traditions continued with my kids, who would also wear their PJs inside out and eagerly await the news of school closures. The system evolved, with us now anxiously watching the ticker on the morning news and then eventually receiving automated messages with the news of a closure. Not as exciting as waiting for your unique number to be called by the voice on the radio, but still a thrill when school was cancelled.
On a snow day, our house was a hub of activity. I would make gallons of hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, grilled cheese sandwiches, and tomato soup. One year we built a luge and invited other parents to join in the sledding fun under the glow of outdoor spotlights.
As the snowy days unfolded, kids’ laughter, scattered boots, melted snow puddles, and the scent of Bagel Bites in the oven and chili simmering on the stove to thaw frozen red noses permeated the house. The constant hum of the dryer whirred, full of mittens, gloves, and scarves.
After hours of snowy adventures outdoors, board games emerged from the game closet and small bodies huddled around the flickering fire in the family room. When late afternoon descended, the magical world of Harry Potter unfolded on the screen, with kids nestled under blankets on couches like cozy puppies.
Snow days were an escape from the usual routine. The world seemed to stop. Snow days were an unanticipated surprise of pure joy.
Last week when it snowed, I watched the news noticing the news ticker announcing the school closings. Many schools were closed but with virtual instruction and it left me feeling a little sad. The magic of a snow day – with no work, no school, and a still, quiet world – seems to be fading away. Will future generations miss out on the joy of snow days? I hope not. The magic of snow days should never disappear.
