For British kids, however, snow on Christmas Day is a big deal. Just once in the twenty-seven Christmases I spent in the UK, we woke up to snow on the day itself -- in 1962. We couldn't understand the grown-ups' general lack of enthusiasm but then we didn't have to shovel the front steps or grit the streets. All we knew was that our dreams had come true. God, Father Christmas, and the baby Jesus had conspired to bring about perfect winter weather for this nearly-five and nearly-six year-old.
I don't seem to have my sister's obvious glee but that's perhaps on account of my bad hair-cut.
|Sis and me in the snow|