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| Us. In 1984. Without the parkas. |
Why do I remember the winter of 1984 so vividly?
It was, in a word, COLD.
But that isn’t the only reason.
It was also the one time in my life I was able to do
something simple (but extraordinary) for someone else.
Let me explain . . .
Winter hit with a vengeance on the 12 of September.
You heard me right. The 12 of September.
Thermometers everywhere hit the bottom of the glass.
And stayed there.
When everyone should have been waffling between long pants
for the cool mornings and evenings, and shorts and T’s for the hot midday, we
were frantically scrambling through the storage to find heavy coats, toques,
boots and mittens.
Turning up the thermostat.
And piling on more quilts.
I sent my little eskimos off to school each morning, muffled
to the eyebrows.
If one happened to be standing on the sidewalk outside the school at the
appropriate time, one could witness the advance of hundreds of little, round,
heavily-padded, slow-moving creatures, intent on one destination.
It was like a scene out of a futuristic, post-apocalyptic
movie.
When Halloween time rolled around, we had already endured six
weeks of the cold snap.
I use the word ‘snap’ judiciously.
Because we were ready to . . .
Then, Halloween day.
Intent on getting to school for the exciting afternoon
party, one little boy ran out from between two parked cars.
And was hit by a passing motorist.
His leg was badly broken.
After we had seen him safely carted off in the ambulance, we
parents milled about uncertainly.
And hugged our own children a little tighter.
Trick-or-treating that evening was a little more subdued.
A tragedy had been narrowly averted.
And the shadow of it still hung over all of us.
Hitting the streets with the old treat bag was also sadly
curtailed because of the weather.
It was just so blessed cold!
My Husby took our kids around the townhouse complex where we
lived.
And stopped at that.
It was as much as our little trick-or-treaters could handle.
But we had remembered to do one thing.
And this is where the extraordinary part comes in . . .
In a highly unusual move for our family, we remembered to
take an extra bag around for our little friend.
People, thinking of the sad little guy, were happy to pile
in the treats.
The next day, we went to the hospital for a visit.
Toting along that extra bag.
I’ll never forget the scene.
Little man in a hospital bed, his leg in a cast and
suspended above him.
His mother and little brother seated on chairs beside him.
Sleepless night written in all three faces.
And how those same three faces lit up when we presented the
bag of treats.
The cold continued until Boxing Day.
And when it finally broke, it stayed that way through until
spring.
That little spot of warmth the day after Halloween kept us
going.
The winter of ’84.
Memorable in so many ways.
