Another snowy birthday after so many years

I'm looking out  the window watching the snow fall softly and gently in Wilson and thinking back to another March 2 when it snowed like this. It was 49 years ago, and I remember it well because it was my 11th birthday.

Now, unless you're a victim of The New Math or simply have forgotten how to do simple addition, you can figure out that today is my 60th birthday. To the best of my memory, it has not snowed on March 2 at any place I have been living at the time since 1960.

That day 49 years ago stands out because I was looking forward to a great day. My parents would not allow their five children to have birthday parties every year, but, if we were moderately civilized in the weeks beforehand, we might be allowed to invite a friend or two or three over for the afternoon, and our friends would get to eat the homemade cake my mother would always bake. But birthday presents were discouraged.

In 1960, I had invited two or three friends to come over after school. When it began snowing, we saw no reason to change plans. My friends boarded the school bus with me when school let out early. Oh boy! We'd have even longer to play, and the snow would be great fun. It never occurred to any of us, so far as I can remember, that there was a connection between getting out of school early and treacherous road conditions. My friends lived a mile or two away and didn't ride my school bus. When the bus reached my driveway, one of the parents of my guests was waiting, more than mildly upset at having to brave slippery roads to retrieve a child who couldn't quite understand what was the big deal. I spent my birthday afternoon playing with my siblings in the several inches of snow that fell.

That March 2 was also significant because it marked the first of the Wednesdays that month that it snowed. All month long, the snow would begin to melt, then it would snow again. My memory is that it snowed every Wednesday in March, but because there were five Wednesdays that March, perhaps it snowed only the first four. The first snow, on my birthday, was deep, close to a foot, as I recall. Then it sleeted on top of the snow, and I was able to walk on top of the frozen snow. Even when school resumed, only to be canceled the next Wednesday, icy spots remained for sledding and skidding.

Chances are, this is not the beginning of a repeat of the snowy March of 1960, but I have reached the age when I'm allowed to say, a little too loudly, "You whippersnappers don't know nothin' about snow. Why, I remember the Blizzard of 1960, when it snowed every Wednesday in March, and a fella couldn't even have a decent birthday celebration."