OK, I know too many of you reading this blog snow is not a big deal.
But to this southern boy, snow is a BIG deal. Living just south of New Orleans, snow is the last thing we expect.
Last night my youngest son Stephen was playing in a soccer game in pouring down — and I do mean pouring down — rain, 40 degree temperatures and wind about 25-30 miles per hour. Now of course that's when my brilliant statement flowed from my lips, "Could be worse, could be snowing." I don't believe in the ole crystal ball theory, and I knew from just listening to the weather forecast that snow was definitely not a possibility, as all the possibilities of snow would be way to the west and north of us. There was not even a one percent chance.
The game felt like hours in the miserable rain. On top of that, we lost and I hate to loose.
Once I was tucked into bed, I watched the news and the forecast for west to northwest Louisiana had a possibility of snow. Again the weatherman reassured the New Orleans viewers that New Orleans, especially south of Lake Ponchatrain had NO chance of snow. I could sleep comfortably.
What was that noise? It's pitch dark, and I can't quite figure out where and what it is. I fumbled and stumbled around. My internal radar finally located the noise. It's my cell phone. Who in the heck and what time is it? 4:45 a.m.
The face on my phone lets me know it is my son Michael calling from school. In the fraction of a second just prior to me answering the phone, many thoughts raced through my mind. Of course, none of the thoughts were good. C'mon now, you would feel the same if your son called you at that time. Any way, I reluctantly answered.
"Is it snowing dad? It is here."
"Michael it is 4:45 a.m.", I reply. I'm not fishing today. Actually, this is the first day I have not had to fish in three weeks and you call to ask me if it is snowing.
As the cobwebs deteriorated from my mind I slowly remember last night's forecast. Could they be wrong? I dashed — well dashing to me at 4:45 a.m. is a slow, careful move towards the window.
Glaring out the window, focusing on the outside I can plainly see no snow.
"No, Michael it is not snowing." Afraid to ask, but I did anyway, "Michael what are you doing up at 4:45 a.m. anyway?"
"We have been up all night studying for our math final that is at 8."
"Good answer, Mike," I told him.
"Seriously, Dad," he replied.
"OK, Mike it's not snowing, good luck on your exam, going back to bed."
Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.
"Dad you sure it's not snowing? It is like a blizzard here."
Like this kid knows what a blizzard is. Glancing outside, yes I did see a glimmer, a reflection from the glow emanating from the street light. A floating, soft looking particle descending to the ground that with some imagination might be a snowflake. Having great faith in my weatherman I knew I was wrong, as it could not be snow.
As morning gave way to light, the sky gave way. Snow, in huge, soft white flakes began to fill the sky. Now it was snowing.
My wife immediately regressed to her childhood demeanor, jumping around the house like a five-year-old.
"C'mon, C'mon, get dressed we have to go outside."
I got nervous. I certainly don't mind going outside and experiencing history, but the last thing I'm doing is laying on my back, flapping my arms and legs to make a snow angel and who else knows what other silly things she will make me do. Don't laugh you probably have a wife as well.
Once outside, it was pretty cool. The snow actually came down heavy — heavy for us. My Triton Bass boat was full of snow. Bella our weenie dog was crazed. And I did some of those silly things I swore I would not do.
And, yes Michael, I think it might have been a blizzard!