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As a teen, I huddled under my Kliban Cat comforter until my clock radio sounded its obnoxious beep-beep-beep alarm. Without opening my eyes, I reached a hand out to silence the noise, then tuned in to 1450 AM WDAD to listen for news about my small Pennsylvania hometown.
“Please be closed, please be closed,” I muttered, still half asleep and lisping through my retainer.
After a commercial for Bruno’s Restaurant, the DJ finally came on air. “Well folks, due to the snowstorm, we have some school delays and closures to announce,” he said.
“YES!” I popped my bed head out of its warm nest of covers, listening more closely as he rattled off the announcements, one by one.
“Apollo Ridge, Armstrong and Derry school districts will be operating on a two-hour delay. No morning kindergarten. Homer City, Marion Center and Punxsutawney School Districts are closed today. Purchase Line Schools are ….”
“C’mon, c’mon,” I plead, my hands clasped tightly in prayer to the school closure gods, waiting for word about the only school that mattered — my school, Indiana Area Junior High School. My whole being yearned for the happiest news a kid could get — A SNOW DAY. One day off school wasn’t exactly life-changing. But to kids who woke up early on dark winter mornings day after boring day, snow days were a rare and cherished gift.
Especially for kids like me, who walked a half mile on an icy unpaved road to my bus stop, where I waited every morning, my teeth chattering. Our neighborhood was the last stop, so by the time we got on, the bus’ windows were steamed up with the condensed hot breath of 50 pimpled adolescents. Our bus had an 8-track tape player, but only one tape. Every word from AC/DCs “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” album was burned into my brain.
Needless to say, my school mornings were sheer hell.
I beseeched the powers of the universe as if my teenaged survival depended on it, to please, for the love of God, grant us, the bedraggled students of Indiana Area Junior High School, a well-deserved break, and I’ll promise to return to school all the better for it
My mind swirled with the possibilities. First and foremost, I might enjoy at least another hour of sleep. Not just any sleep, but deep teenaged sleep, when my mouth fell open allowing a steady stream of drool to escape. Then, I’d meet up with neighbors to sled down our hill until my lips were too frozen to form intelligible consonants. Afterward, I’d have hot cocoa, gallons of it, and maybe tomato soup with grilled cheese for dipping while watching daytime sitcom reruns like “Gilligan’s Island” and “Beverly Hillbillies.”
Oh, the unbridled joy of it all!
I was recently saddened to learn that many children today aren’t able to enjoy snow days like I did. Thanks to the remote learning platforms put in place during the COVID pandemic, some kids have virtual school on snow days.
New York City Public Schools, for example, mandate attendance via remote instruction when weather closes schools. Students are expected to log into classes online so the instructional day still “counts” to avoid extending the school year. Other districts in Illinois have e-learning or Flexible Instruction Day (FID) policies mandating students to take lessons remotely, logging attendance through platforms like Google Classroom or SeeSaw. And many districts in snow-plagued states like Pennsylvania, Ohio, Minnesota and my state of Rhode Island permit districts to require virtual instruction on snow days if they see fit. Currently, DoD schools do not require remote learning during school closures of less than five days.
To the poor children who must log onto computers during school closures, who will never feel the unbridled joy of a snow day in winter, my heart goes out to you.
“Indiana Area Schools are closed today,” the DJ finally says, granting my ultimate wish. I roll over, drooling in triumph, snoozing in the sweet silence without AC/DC. I didn’t learn anything that snow day, but sometimes kids become better school students on the days when there’s no school at all.
Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com
