Snowpocalypse 2010

This is my second week day at home. Our little city seems to be going through an identity crisis. Some years in the metroplex I have worn shorts on Valentine's Day. Some years its only a light jacket. But this year, this fateful year, is the year of the snowpocalypse. This year, the bipolar god of texas weather has brought us ten fluffy inches of snow. Ten fluffy inches of clean, white, self-reflective snow.

For the first time in months, I've had some time to just sit. I did some much-needed work, and spent quality time with a few friends, but now I am enjoying my time in thought. I sit in my chair and gaze across the white, smooth snow. Its pretty, and fixed and clean. It reminds me of childhood and forgiveness. Looking at the snow, I wish I was a kid again. I wish I had the desire to run out into the snow and build a fort, or an igloo, or a snowman. I wish I was incredibly excited about the snow and the fun it could bring me.

Once it snowed when I was in elementary school. It may have snowed more than once during my childhood, but this is the time I remember. I was in third or fourth grade and old enough to go to the park with some friends. My sister and I had walked around the corner to the little park by my house and were in the heat snow fortress building. There were other kids there, who I could not remember if I tried, and they too were building a fort to hide behind. Despite the fake Texas ice/snow, we were going to have a snowball fight: pain or not. One of those kids said something mean to me and I hit him in the face with a snowball. I don't remember what he said, but I remember feeling hurt, and I remember reacting.

So the snow reminds me of forgiveness. The snow reminds me of that time I hurt that boy only because he hurt me. The snow reminds me of the voice I heard-and still hear in my head- that day. The sound of my mother telling me to, "go say you're sorry," normally directing me toward my sister. The snow makes me think that maybe I need to be more like that little girl I used to be. The little girl who felt heartbroken about hurting someone else. The little girl who admitted she was wrong and asked for forgiveness.

As I've grown up, I've stopped saying that I am sorry. I've stopped listening to my mother's voice inside my head. Instead I tell myself that I am in the right. That I know what is best. That even though I may have been proven wrong, I will hold my ground. That my selfishness is really self-confidence. That my truthfulness is more legitimate than other people's emotions. But really, I should say that I am sorry more. I should apologize. I should be more like that snow: clean and forgiving of all of the dead horrid grass beneath it.

Thank you snowpocalypse, for being so forgiving.