Looking back I can remember that February day clearly. It has been nearly ten years. The day was nearly perfect. My dad woke me up early in the morning; you could see the joy on his face when he told me it was a snow day. A snow day is quite possibly the most exciting day of the year for a seven year old. I could feel the excitement rush from my toes all the way to my face as I thought about all the adventures I would embark on the next day. I leaped from my bed into my father’s arms and we made our way to the window. Outside where the green grass inhabited just hours before, stood a foot of snow. Untouched, clean, and perfect.
My Dad and I were ready, he didn’t have work and I didn’t have school; this was sure to be the best day ever. We gobbled down a bowl of fruit loops, suited up in our boots, coat, and gloves, and went outside. The first mission was to start shoveling. He was much bigger and stronger than me, but I was still a big help. We worked hard, and finished the entire driveway in what seemed like no time.

We were cold! So we ran inside to enjoy a steaming hot cup of cocoa and to warm up by the fire. We woke up my little brother and sister and embarked outside once more, this time for a snowball fight! It was my dad and sister against my brother and I. We worked hard building up a fort, ignoring the numbness of our fingers and toes. The battle felt as if it lasted for days. In the end, there was no clear winner; it ended in a rage of laughter as we all joined in the middle. My mom ran outside with her camera as my dad hugged us close to him, we were having so much fun that we really didn’t notice my mom hovering over us. As the sun began to set, and our marvelous day was coming to a close, we sat as a family, cozy by the fire. We realized that while the future was uncertain, for that moment in time, happy.