After The Fall

There’s something about a fresh blanket of snow that turns even the most jaded New Yorker into a kid again. It stands to reason, then, that 26.9 inches of powder turns us all into toddlers.

Abbi and I loafed around all afternoon, reading the Sunday Times, watching bad wedding shows on Oxygen, and eating waffles. We were completely contented in our cabin fever.

But we were on call. Chris, Jen, and Ethan were going to the park. So when the call came, we bundled up, and headed to out.

The park was teaming with giggling, snow-covered New Yorkers of every stripe. There were cross country skiers, toboganists, snow footballers, dog walkers, canoodlers, and tourists, and every one was smiling and chatting like they’d never seen snow before.

Hanging out with a toddler makes the aforementioned truism doubly so. His dad taught him how to sled, and I taught him how to fall into snowdrifts. I kept running and diving, sure to laugh and throw lots of snow into the air every time. Once he discovered how fun it was to fall over in the snow (it was up to his waist in most spots), he did it over and over again, walking just a few feet before throwing himself into another pile of powder. And until one of us acknowledged his tomfoolery, he wouldn’t get up. Then he’d do it again.

It occurred to me that learning to fall and stand back up again is a pretty valuable life lesson for a two and a half year old, or a thirty-four year old. So, for that matter, is laughing the whole thing off. If only I’d learned that one earlier.

Anyway, I learned it today, with Ethan, and the rest of the City of New York, all of us frolicking beneath a blanket a pure white snow. Which I guess is better late than never.

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