There’s No Man Like a Snowman
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I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a snowman, can you? I’m not talking about one of those pipsqueak snowmen you build on the hood of your car; I’m talking about a World Federation Wrestler-size Snowman—a snowman so big it would laugh in the face of a sunny day, if it could laugh.

When I was younger, my brother and I made a snowman that was so big, a newspaper reporter stopped at our house to take a picture of it. I still have that picture. That snowman stayed in our front yard for weeks. It was too stubborn to melt. I would hate to meet a snowman like that today in some dark alley. I bet it would eat icicles for breakfast and little boys for lunch.

It’s probably not politically correct to use the word “snowman” when referring to a snowman, but seeing that I can’t ever recall seeing a snow woman—and I’m sure I’d be able to tell the difference—something tells me that being politically correct is sometimes just plain silly. I’ve gotten used to saying postal carrier instead of postman, mainly because my postman is a post lady, but you would never catch me saying, “Let’s go out and build a snow person.” Snowmen deserve to be gender specific. I’m sure Frosty would agree.

  
 
I read a news report the other day about a certain species of bird that no longer inhabits the southern regions of our country because of “environmental changes”—which is a term The Government uses to say Earth is getting hot, but it’s not the fault of humans or SUVs. Now, I’m not a scientist or anything, but I can add two plus two and most of the time get the correct answer. If it’s too hot for the birds, it’s way too hot for snowmen.

And if it’s too hot for snowmen, then it’s too hot for snow angels, snow forts, snowball fights, snow ice cream and yellow snow (which I don’t think anybody will miss). Can you imagine a world without snow angels and snow ice cream? My very first “brain freeze” was due to a bowl of snow ice cream made by my grandmother. The ice cream was delicious. The pain was excruciating.

There are times during the winter months when we get what looks like snow, but it’s really just ice. You can’t make a snowball out of ice. With ice you get slush balls. Throwing a slush ball is like throwing a rock, and it really hurts to get hit by one. You might as well throw a rock and bypass getting cold hands. Snowballs, on the other hand, never really hurt when you get hit by one because they explode into a million snowflakes that drift away with the wind. Slush balls can leave scars.

I suppose one day we’ll all have to travel to states like Michigan and North Dakota to play in the snow, but it won’t be the same. We won’t know anybody there to have a snowball fight with, and where’s the fun in building a snowman in a stranger’s front yard?

Building a snowman can teach a person a lot about life. For instance, it’s easier to build a snowman’s body by rolling it downhill, unless you want him to stand at the top of the hill so everybody can see him. Lesson Learned: If you don’t plan ahead, things can go downhill pretty quick.

Second: Building a Monster Snowman requires heavy lifting. Heavy lifting requires teamwork. Teamwork requires a Team. If you have no Team, you might throw out your back. Lesson Learned: Bend your knees when lifting heavy objects.

Third: A snowman requires stick arms, a carrot nose, charcoal facial features, and a hat. A scarf and pipe would look good, but they’re optional. Lesson Learned: There are rules for everything, such as “ask before borrowing your dad’s scarf and pipe.”

Fourth: Snowmen melt. Lesson Learned: Life is short.

Unfortunately, our children’s children may never learn the lessons we learned by building snowmen. They may never experience the thrill of creation at the cost of a few frostbitten toes and fingers. To them, snowmen will be creatures of a bygone era, only seen in photographs and artwork. What a shame.



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