By Sal Guarino
Dear Readers: Please enjoy this holiday story, adapted from my book “SALutations!” (2018).
Snow in Waco
“But It Might Snow, Right?”
Our daughters Victoria and Nora were turning four and three already in the summer of 1996. They were the kernel of energy and attention within our young and busy family life. My ex-wife and I raised our kids in a very loving way, yet also more firmly than most. We weren’t too preoccupied with trying to cushion all their falls in life. However, our hearts were as breakable as any parents’ when it came to our daughters’ potential hurt, especially when their most sincere hopes were on the line.
We moved to Waco, Texas, that summer for career reasons from upstate New York. The kids welcomed the great trek, excited by the prospect of having several months of pool time. As Christmas approached, and the weather remained warm, the girls, already steeped in the magical rituals and contagious enthusiasm that blow in with the snowy chill of a white Christmas, began to wonder when it would get cold and snow.
“When Nana and Godfather come to visit for Christmas, there will be snow just like in New York at the old house!” Victoria asserted one morning at breakfast with the air of a teacher conveying an indisputable fact, such as eight times eight is 64. Her astute childhood intuition was also at work, signaling her to take note of some cues, contrary to her claim. There was a hint of doubt in her otherwise-instructive tone. Nora, whose expectations were largely managed by her older sister, also remained hopeful that Victoria’s wintery forecast of events would be as certain as the times tables.
I remember watching Victoria hold court that morning, a breakfast-time ritual, from the head of the kitchen table, her diminutive frame kneeling on her chair, adding a few inches of projective power to her presentation. She gave voice to a constant stream of busy, happy thoughts, hundreds of tidbits, and updates, all in about eight minutes. Nora sat dutifully between us, choosing to focus mostly on her Cheerios rather than attempt an interruption. Between slurps of milk, she curiously pivoted her head of long, unbrushed, brown hair alternately toward her sister’s morning address and my facial reactions to Victoria’s speech. Victoria pointed her index finger at me, Nora, and the world, amplifying her palpable enthusiasm as she provided more information than the morning news shows. She outlined a review of our daily agendas, including the lead bulletin of whether Mom or Dad was to prepare dinner that night and was sure to announce how Nora was “still a baby,” and thus played with the “little kids” at daycare, unlike Victoria, who was in the “big kids’ class,” among other headline news. As Victoria proceeded with her mostly upbeat Cheerios briefing, rife with editorial ad-libs, I knew that the emerging conflict about snow on Christmas was going to be a recurring story I needed to consider weighing in on.
A big believer in shooting straight with my kids, I was hard-pressed to be truthful about the upcoming holiday-weather realities without popping their winter balloons in the warm Texas air. After gathering hard facts about the chance for December snow in Waco and deliberating on whether to employ preemptive truth or allow eventual disappointment to descend, I decided to break the news. The next morning at breakfast, they listened keenly to my multistage, boom-lowering, holiday-weather truth, wide-eyed and with utter disbelief visible in every detail of their adorably innocent and now conflicted body language.
Victoria, the chronologically inherent spokesperson for such pivotal matters, asked simply and in a uniquely assertive, questioning tone, “Yes, but it might snow, right?”
As if God had delivered this beautiful and timeless reminder right to my soul, I instantly realized two things: that I needed to handle this more like the mystery of Santa, letting nature and time eventually sort out the magical from the practical, and that Victoria’s claim actually was 100% correct―it might snow. Acting on this welcomed moment of fatherly intuition, I smiled and looked reassuringly at the four brown eyes needing to witness unequivocal confirmation of Victoria’s logically magical premise.
“Of course, it might!” I said.
And, a few months later, on a beautiful and magical morning in late December in Waco, Texas, in 1996, to the absolute and unbridled joy of two girls from New York, it snowed for the first time in 20 years. It was only a fraction of an inch—dust on the sandy dirt. And, as quickly as my daughters burst outside that morning with high-pitched giddiness to verify that their frosty wish had indeed come true, they returned to the cozy comforts of Swiss Miss with mini marshmallows and their third rewatching of “A Little House Christmas.” The amount of snow the girls witnessed, or how long they sloshed around in it, didn’t matter, of course. The magic of this Christmas would be measured by the infinite delight that possessed my girls on that day. Their sweet and improbable hopes rewarded; the only people happier than they on that unlikeliest of days were their parents.
Sal Guarino Bio:
Born in Brooklyn, NY, Sal brings a rich set of life experiences, including a diverse career path to the table. Now settled in San Miguel, “SALudos!” shares his ongoing reflections of gratitude and personal strategies for joyful living. Sal’s first book, a collection of autobiographical essays, “SALutations!” was published in 2018. Contact: salguarino@gmail.com.
