It was 35 years ago this month that Connecticut was on the receiving end of such a monster snowstorm that this then-6th grader got a whopping full week off from school. I remember the week vividly.
I remember my dad shoveling snow off our porch roof, and then jumping off it, into the immense drift below. I remember walking with a buddy to a girl's house, where she and her two gorgeous older sisters made us scrambled eggs. I remember making a snow fort with my best friend Louis that stood long after the storm passed, that we dumped pails of water on to keep it solid, to house us and our comic books and our thermos of hot chocolate. It was awesome.
"Celebrating" the 35th anniversary of the Blizzard of '78 with another massive storm -- this time with me cast as the dad -- is simply surreal. There is no 6th grader in my house; there's a 4th grader and a 1st grader. There is no porch; there is a tiny back deck. My best friend now lives in San Jose, California, and the girl who made me the scrambled eggs has a 4th grader of her own. He's in my 4th grader's class. I'm going to invite him over to read comic books in a fort of their making.