Snow Boys

(or how I [allegedly] tried to kill my sons)

I need to set the record straight. My younger son, Scott, asks friends of mine when he meets them, “Has my mother ever told you about the time she tried to kill my brother and me?”

The trouble is, I start to laugh when that happens, probably because I enjoy being teased, but the last time that particular son told the story, he changed a few things. Yes, it had me laughing and protesting, but I want to set down the very true story of what happened.

It was a normal November day on Grand Island, N.Y. Grey, cold, a Saturday. The 15th, I believe. The boys, at that time almost 11 and just 12, seemed itchy, which is also normal on a Saturday when it’s grey and chilly. So I did something my mother did when I was itchy—I sent them to the store.

“OK, guys, I need a few things from Mesmer’s. We need milk, better get a gallon, and I need some eggs; a dozen is fine, and oh!, get a bag of noodles.” They were pretty happy to have something to do, and knew there was probably a candy bar or other treat in it for them. After all, I didn’t believe in slavery!

Off they went, and I continued on with whatever I was doing, and their Dad continued whatever he was doing barricaded in his recliner. Seriously: the chair was in sort of a corner, with a floor lamp and table on one side and another table on the other side. One couldn’t get around him on either side—table, lamp, and wall on one side; table and then plant stand on the other side, and with the chair reclined one couldn’t get around to the back either. No way to approach, except a frontal attack, but that wasn’t really safe—the recliner could possibly tip backwards and that wouldn’t have been for either the tipper or the tippee. No sir. But I digress.

Anyway, Mesmer’s was about half a mile away, no more than half an hour for even dawdling boys, and another half hour at the most back, probably less with a gallon of milk and the two other items. They wouldn’t have taken much time at the store either.

I noticed snow falling a bit very soon after they took off. Within half an hour, it had begun to accumulate rather seriously, and after an hour it was getting a little harder to see. Ten minutes later I couldn’t see the church across the parking lot, at most 50 yards away. Worry was not in my nature—there were no streets to cross and Grand Island was a pretty safe little town to live in—but it wasn’t snowing when they left, so no boots on their feet.

I called Mesmer’s, asked about two young boys, and the woman who answered laughed and said “Oh, the two little snowmen? Yes, they were here, covered with snow, but they started back home at least half an hour ago.” I put on boots, coat, hat, and went out the back door, thinking I’d go to meet them. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face—literally—and figured that I could just as easily miss them as find them. The wind was fierce and blew my calls over my shoulder, away from where they’d be. I went back inside.

It wasn’t much later that we could hear them at the front door. Stamping feet, the usual sounds of two children entering the house, only slightly muffled by the snow.

“Mom, we could have died out there!” Scott complained. “In fact, Brian would have if I hadn’t been there. He was tired and wanted to rest, but I wouldn’t let him, ‘cause he would have died.”

“Well, the milk was heavy! You weren’t carrying the milk!” Brian retorted.

"No, but I had to be careful I didn't break the eggs!", sniffed Scott, quite self-righteously.

“Why didn’t you just leave the eggs and milk?” I asked.

“You woulda killed us!” they said in unison.