Snow Day, Whitesboro
The day dawned cold and windy. Snow was swirling around the kitchen windows as if someone had dumped a huge truckload of Ivory Flakes from the sky.
“Better turn on the radio,” my husband, yelled, advising from his comfortable bed. “They may have closed school”.
”Mumble, grumble, why me?” moans the teenager sleepily as he reluctantly plants one number eleven foot in front of the other as he heads to the shower.
The radio is on, mixed with sounds of frying sausage, eggs, and pancakes. The list of school closings grow, but not ours. The sixteen year old tries a different station while he blow-dries his hair. Finally he shuts of the radio in disgust and storms out to breakfast. “ I am mad. Everyone else is closed but us”.
Then a cunning look appears in his eye. “How would they know it wasn’t the school if I called the radio station?”
“You wouldn’t dare, “ I shout, as I remove his hand from the telephone receiver.
He is still poking around when the 7 a.m. Bus appears as a blur around the corner. As he dashes down the driveway, still putting on his jacket, the driver waves and disappears around the other corner in a cloud of snowflakes. “What the…” yells my exasperated son and the girl across the street, also stopped in her driveway calls, “What do we do now?” Then a helpful neighbor shouts out, “They just closed the school.”
Shaking the snow off his jacket like a dog, he comes inside and jumps right back in bed with his school clothes on. It is only a short reprieve till the phone starts ringing for him and his younger brother. Teenagers are coming in with guitars; basses and the amplifiers are turned to their loudest peak, just before deafness starts. There is a younger group with the eleven-year-old playing games and watching TV.
They’ve closed the school for kids, but do you suppose they’d open it for mothers?