Snow, real or not, has rules

PETER BUFFA

I’d hardly call the weather outside frightful, a fire is always

delightful, and who says we have no place to go? So let it, you know,

like ... snow.

That’s not exactly what Sammy Cahn had in mind when he wrote it,

but you get the point.

Do they ever let it snow around here?

No, but if you want to be meteorologically annoying, yes. There

are a few snow flurries now and then, as long as “now” and “then” are

separated by 10 or 15 years. T

he “virtual snowstorm” has become a holiday tradition, though.

Truck in some manmade snow, find some sleds, grab the kids, make a

few snowballs, have fun, etc.

Newport Dunes Resort did the snow thing Friday night as part of

their 10th annual tree-lighting party, and Newport Harbor Lutheran

Church will do their version of the white stuff from 4 to 9 p.m.

Friday, if you are so inclined.

I thought it might be interesting for the small, California-grown

people to know how snow really works in those places where the white

stuff falls from the sky, not from the truck. When you are a kid in a

place where “cold” does not mean forty degrees, you pray for snow.

There are two reasons for this. The first is that snow is fun.

Does that require a lot of explanation? I didn’t think so. The second

and much, much more important reason is that if it snows enough,

schools will be closed. And that is the most wonderful thing that can

happen in the life of any school-aged child, ever, and let me repeat,

ever.

Here’s how it works in the land of the brrrrr:

A major snow storm usually starts late in the day and continues

through the night, which means it’s almost impossible to sleep if you

are anywhere between the ages of six and 16.

I’ll give you visions of sugarplums. Does anyone even know what a

sugarplum is by the way? Neither do I. You peer out the window at the

streams of snowflakes in the glow of the streetlight as long as you

can, then drift off to sleep. When you wake up, you race to the

window to check the levels. If it’s a two-inch fizzle, you go back to

sleep, exhausted and heartbroken.

But if it’s the 2-foot mother lode that is the stuff of dreams,

you scramble across the bed and turn on the radio for the words that

you live for. “Public schools in all five boroughs will be closed

today, along with the following parochial schools.”

Your heart begins to race. In fact, you can hear it beating.

Londoners huddled around radios in a blitzkrieg weren’t nearly as

desperate for the right words as we were. When they finally, finally

announced “P.S. 103” and “St. Francis of Rome School,” you could hear

muffled shouts and cheers up and down the block.

Within minutes, the street would be a stumbling mass of coats,

hoods, gloves and galoshes and the smallish people inside them. There

was a brief strategy meeting -- sledding, snowball fight or snow fort

-- which was a total waste of time because the answer was always

sledding. The real reason for the meeting was that, as in all moments

of great joy or tragedy, you just want someone to share it with.

Incredible. Twenty-four unexpected hours of no school, no teachers,

no homework, no hassles, all fun. It’s hard to describe.

The sledding was the high point of the day and went on for hours.

There were a lot of rules and a complex pecking order about who could

go down the hill when, with whom and for what reason, etc., all of

which would take many, many pages to explain. But in general, the

snow rules were not that different than the summer rules: everyone

picks on the dweebs mercilessly, the cool kids get all the attention

and everyone steers clear of the tough kids. So was it then and so

shall it ever be, regardless of the temperature.

There are a few snow myths that need to be dispelled, however.

Nobody builds snowmen except little kids, usually with their parents.

Fully-grown people build snowmen because they think they remember

building them, which they really didn’t. Snowmen take way too much

time to build and they never look right, ever. The only thing you can

roll snow into looks like a giant roll of cotton gauze. You can never

get it round no matter how hard you try, and if you pick up any dirt,

sticks or rocks, it’s not going to roll up at all. And who was the

last kid who could run into the house and come out with a carrot,

some lumps of coal and a top hat? Snow forts are what you build, not

snowmen. It can be as simple as a tunnel dug into a snow bank or as

complex as an Inuit craftsman’s finest work. Things go on in and

around snow forts that cannot be told here but are among the warmest

memories of the coldest days.

Snowball fights.... Again, so many rules, so little time.

Leave the organized snowball fights with the neat piles of

snowballs stacked up like so many cannonballs to the movies. Never

happens. The only fun in throwing snowballs is to be as devious and

unfair as possible. Other than that, it’s no fun and your hands get

so cold you think they’ll fall off. Here’s the deal. You get two or

three well-made snowballs (it’s an art) ready, then lie in wait for

an unsuspecting person to come by, almost always a dweeb or a girl.

On rare occasion, it could be a tough kid, but you better be really

fast and I was never that fast. I stuck to the dweebs and the girls.

The rule is you don’t want to hurt anybody but you do want to

cause great discomfort, moderate pain and/or embarrassment. Why would

you throw one? The object is to knock the target’s hat off, with

extra points for making them drop anything they’re carrying, and

double extra points for getting their hair wet. If you can do all

three and have it properly witnessed, you will be treated like

royalty for weeks.

So there you have it, just a few of the snow rules. Take the kids

to the holiday snow hill of your choice, have a blast, and when they

ask you, “Is this what snow is?” tell them, “Yeah, sort of.” I gotta

go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].