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Boot-Shaped Holes and Angel Wings

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Boot-Shaped Holes and Angel Wings

One of my favorite memories of child raising is winters during the 1960s when the children—five of them—were between one and ten years of age. I wasn’t very fond of those winters then—the beautiful, sunny mornings after a fresh snow, when the wonderful, sparkly white stuff lay begging for small feet to punch holes in it and eager little bodies to trace angel wings on its surface. The trouble wasn’t with the snow. The

trouble was with the preparation that came ahead of the boot-shaped holes and the angel wings. Five children between the ages of one and ten needed a lot of bundling up. Specters of pneumonia, croup, flu, frostbite, and a reputation like that of the not-as-careful mother down the street demanded that each child be fully covered and water-proofed before playing in the snow. And so, after the hot oatmeal (the warmth needed to begin on the inside), the bathroom (with dire warnings about what would happen to any kid who failed to go), and the

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