The Snowman

On a cool January late-afternoon, a father and his young daughter discovered that the conditions outside were (finally!) perfect for playing in the snow. Without a moment's hesitation, they threw on their winter coats, snow pants, scarves, gloves and hats, and made a dash for the door.

The sky was just showing hints of the evening to come, it was cool but not cold, snowflakes fell with no hint of menace, and the week's ample deposit of powder had just turned the corner to packability.

They helped each other over the driveway's carefully shoveled white bulwark and dove onto the snowy lawn, which until that moment had been pristine and untouched. Lying on their backs and flapping their arms, they formed an angel daddy and an angel daughter. And then like all snow angel makers, they struggled (and failed) to stand back up without damaging their work.

As they stood there comparing their imperfect creations, the daughter flung a small handful of snow at her dad. He playfully returned fire, but missed wide and right. She threw another handful, and dad dropped to the ground in feigned agony. She waddled over while he lay there, fell on top of him, and gently dropped another concealed handful onto his face.

A few more minutes in the front yard, and all traces of untrampled, unrolled-in, and unflung snow were gone. It was time to move to the back of the house so they could build a snowman.

With light draining from the day, they surveyed the large and blank canvass behind the house. As if worried that too many boot prints would somehow spoil the scene, they tiptoed out to the middle of the lawn and began to form the snowman's base, torso, and head. After stacking the three sections together, smoothing the surface, and patching imperfections with more snow, they stepped back to consider their next move. The body they had formed certainly looked snowman-like, but without facial features, clothes and accessories, it was just a pile of snow.

In the shed, they found two large green garden tees and carefully inserted them into the snowman's face. Some scavenged red and green beads became his mouth and buttons. And after trying for several minutes to secure a perfectly nose-like stone, they instead took a plastic carrot nose and other parts (scarf and pipe) from the snowman-making kit they had bought last spring on clearance.

The finishing touch was a simple, black work cap, turned to the side.

And now standing before them was a short and funny, obviously happy little guy.

The dad snapped a picture of his daughter and the snowman, and they went in for dinner (just the two of them, not the snowman).

 
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The weather turned brutal overnight: Blinding snow, freezing rain, and high winds conspired to coat the world in ice.



But the snowman stoically weathered the storm: Despite being half-buried and completely ice-crusted, he kept on smiling.

His wide green eyes seemed to stare expectantly, awaiting the return of the girl and her father who had lovingly formed him the night before.



But it was a school day, and a work day, and nobody came.

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Days passed and the bitter cold turned into unseasonable warmth. The dad concentrated on trying to get the thawing but still thick ice off the driveway and out of the eavestrough. His daughter played inside where it wasn't wet and slushy.

The snowman stood where he was - looking lonely and a little concerned, but smiling nonetheless.

At night, his eyes were cast on the inside of the house as occasionally a shadow would move across the kitchen blinds, or the top of someone's head would appear in the upstairs window. The lights would go on and off throughout the day. But still nobody came.

Once... a squirrel on a dash across the lawn paused for a moment to see if his nose was food. But it wasn't, so he kept on running.

And some more days passed.

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Yesterday...just yesterday...the man and his daughter were eating dinner and the talk turned to the weather. Suddenly they both remembered their little friend in the backyard. With great trepidation they opened the patio door and turned on the light...

...they didn't like what they saw.


How lonely he must have been in his silent vigil behind the house.

How neglected he must have felt, after being left alone to melt.

How disappointed he must have been that nobody said goodbye...




Now....

This is the story of a pile of cold water, some beads, a hat, a scarf, a plastic carrot and a plastic pipe.

There is nothing to feel bad about.

The hat wasn't lonely. The beads didn't feel anything.  There was nothing to say goodbye to except some water.

But the little girl cried.

Children know that something is lost when a snowman melts. Children cherish things they create and the time it takes to create them. Children can give life to things with their imaginations.

And parents who can see the world through their children's eyes - even if it's only every now and then - can remember what that feels like.

The girl's father didn't cry for the snowman, but he chokes up at the thought that someday she won't cry for such things anymore.