A Memory: Walking home in the snow and cold as a kid

Today you hardly ever see kids outside, let alone walking around by their self.

I was maybe 5 years old and coming home from a friend’s house. I might’ve been carrying skates or dragging a sled. It was nearly dinnertime, the sun was sinking and the light on the snow had gone purple. Lights were on in the windows I passed, little squares glowing. I wanted desperately to be inside, warm and cozy. But, I had a ways to walk—today I imagine it being no further than a few blocks. Nevertheless, it seemed far to a kindergartner with snot running down from her nose.

I might have contemplated quitting, lying down in a snow bank like some character from Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates or the Little Match Girl in Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tale. Anyway, I knew that wouldn’t work. I might have considered knocking on a stranger’s door, begging admittance, but again that was creepy—who’d want an extra mouth to feed! No, I just needed to keep trudging, one boot in front of the other. And, by running through all these scenarios, I was able to make it home. In time for supper, a hot bath and bed, soon forgetting how cold I’d been.