Once upon a time school cancellations did not come across the bottom of the TV screen or over the radio airwaves. The school did not have a "phone tree" set up to contact parents to let them know that school would not be in session due to inclement weather. Sometimes, the only way a kid found out that there was no school was waiting in said inclement weather forever for a bus that did not run. And sometimes, when it was canceled, the kids that walked to school, had school anyway . . . but they didn’t always go (well, not all of us anyway).

          But oh . . . on those days that school was canceled . . . it was the absolute best. It was like a kid was being given a blank check on a weekday to cash however they wanted. Sometimes, the first indication grown-ups had that school was canceled was the sudden influx of kids all over town — kids absolutely everywhere, in the streets, in the yards, on the hills, at the stores . . . everywhere. Throwing snowballs, riding sleds, building snowmen, pulling sleds, building forts, carrying shovels and sometimes, just plain walking around with their heads up in the air . . . simply enjoying being outside in the snow.

          A kid would do anything to get outside in that white stuff as soon as they possibly could . . . carry groceries, shovel the walk, get the mail, get the neighbors mail, whatever. It was a "free" day, and it was snowing . . . ‘ya just had to be out there in it. Remember? Cold didn’t matter. Ice didn’t matter. Wind didn’t matter. For Pete’s sake . . . there was snow! We’d put tube socks on our hands, bread bags over them, and anybody’s hat or toboggan, and off we’d go, outside in the glorious snow.

          When any amount of snow fell on the ground, local stores and everybody’s neighbors were bombarded with offers to "do their walks". Kids that generally terrorized their neighborhoods became "angels of winter" as they willingly carried groceries and ran errands for little old ladies.

          And any incline . . . any incline at all became a place to slide down. We didn’t have a public ice skating rink, but we had some really cool brick streets down on Riverside Drive that seemed almost like one because they froze over instantly, as well as the culverts at the Dairy Queen. We didn’t have proper ski-slopes or bob-sled runs, but we had some terrific hills at the City Park, on McCoy Heights and Virginia Terrace. Every yard had snowmen . . . big, little, fat, skinny . . . some complete with cool hats and carrot noses, some with trash can lids for hats and railroad gravel for eyes. And you were never to big, to old, to small or to young to help build one. In fact, it was like a city policy at the time . . . ‘ya just had to help.

          Wow, where did THAT time in our lives go?

          I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but we’ve had quite a few snow days lately . . . yet, there is not a kid to be found. That’s right, Mother Nature has written quite a few blank checks for our kids in the last couple of weeks, and not very many of them at all have taken advantage of it. Or, if they have it has been in secret because I haven’t seen them.

          There’s a lot of snow out there and snowmen families are being sacrificed. There is perfect, untracked up snow everywhere I look, no tracks, no skids . . . just perfect, pretty, white snow . . . and it’s making me crazy.

          Where are the forts and the unsuccessful igloos? Where are the mommy, daddy and little kid snowmen all lined up in yards? Where’s the kids pulling the sleds and the boys with shovels over their shoulders?

          They are gone.

          It is my belief that the Pied Piper of Hamlin has come to town playing that wicked flute of his and taken all the children while the rest of us were just to busy to notice. He beckoned and they followed. He has taken them to the windowless land of television and video games where they are obviously the most comfortable, plying them with promises of cushy couches, unending supplies of potato chips and pop, and their own personal headphones to block out sounds of parents and the world outside.

          Arggghhh, I hate that guy . . . and I grieve for the snowman families that could have been.