Although the Princesses are home-schooled, the excitement of a snow day is inescapable. With the forecast of “a winter mix,” came the immediate question of, “can we take the day off if it snows?”

The answer, of course, was, “No, you’re home-schooled. You’re off every day.” That remark got me silence and stony glares from the Admiral and the Princesses that equaled those of the Ice Queen of Narnia. I felt a stiffness growing in my joints as visions of me standing with the Faun in the courtyard caused me to amend my errant thinking with, “Of course, it’s only fair.”

That was close.

Such did cause me to hearken back my younger days in Texas when snow days were as rare as they are in lower Alabama. We had a few as I grew up; super exciting days when we could run out in the early morning and build a snowman, if we were fast, then spend the rest of the morning watching it melt. One snow day in particular stands out: It was the day I became a man … in a sense.

I could feel a chill in my room and knew, somehow, that I had been allowed to sleep past the regular time. Was this a snow day? I was in high school with a driver’s license. Snow days didn’t have the same appeal as they once did. I was too old for such childish things as snow days. But that was about to change.

The door to my room swung open. “Here we go,” I thought, not stirring.

My mother spoke, “David, it’s snowing.” That caused a little excitement on my part and verified my suspicion, but did nothing to cause me to respond. “Get up now …” the dreaded command was usually followed by something like, “do the dishes,” or, “clean your room.” Wasn’t this supposed to be a snow day; a day to play, get soaking wet, drink hot chocolate and stuff? I expected the worst as she continued, “…I need you to drive me…”

I sat straight up in bed, “What did you say … please ma’am?” Manners were taught in our home. I didn’t want to blow this with rudeness.

“I need you to drive …” She didn’t get to finish.

I was up getting ready, saying, “Really?” I had driven with my mother a lot. She was my trainer. My father couldn’t stand the duty and it had fallen to my patient mother to get me to the milestone of license and beyond, but this was different. She used the word “need” twice. “What do you mean need?” I asked with a mix of suspicion and eagerness.

“I’m afraid to drive on the snow and ice, you’re not, you don’t know any better. I need you to drive.”

Wow! My driving skills are needed! I’m sure that I stood at least a foot taller as I saunter out of my room asking, “Keys?”

She tossed them to me as I swaggered toward the garage. “Don’t you want breakfast?”

“Later,” I said. It was very manly. She smiled, as did I. We both knew what the moment meant. It took a man to brave the elements and protect his mother. Yeah, snow days; good stuff.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at david@starchasers.us.