I begin this week’s column with a philosophical question: If snow causes schools to be closed while the Internet is functional, it is still a snow day?
I pondered this last week when the phone rang at 5:45 a.m., never a good sign as it usually signals something unpleasant is currently happening.
So I hesitated to pick up the home line until my wife groggily said, “Answer it!”
To my relief, what followed was a recorded message from our school district. The previous night’s blizzard had resulted in the most joyful sentence known to a kid, other than “Free pizza” or “Justin Bieber is at the front door.”
Schools are closed today.
I opened the doors to my daughter’s rooms. Both had begun stirring as their normal wakeup ritual on school days begins at 6 a.m. I say “begins” because, by the time they hit various ‘snooze’ buttons, unfold themselves from their blankets, get dressed, shuffle downstairs and grumble that life is “no fair,” it’s about 6:50.
I said nothing. Instead, I waited downstairs for them to join me for breakfast.
“I can’t believe we don’t have a snow day today,” my 16 year old complained.
“Yeah, look at it outside,” her 10-year-old sister echoed.
“Oh, I just got the message. Today is a snow day,” I said.
“WHAT!” they replied in unison.
“Why didn’t you say anything, Dad?”
“I’m going back to bed.”
“Whoa. The message said school was closed,” I said. “It didn’t say school was canceled. There’s a difference, you know.
They exchanged puzzled looks. “Dad, a snow day means no school.”
“When I went to school, that was the case,” I said. “The roads were impassable, so the buses couldn’t get to school. Ditto for the teachers. It meant all the kids slept late, watched TV and made snow angels.”
“That’s still what it means,” they said.
I continued as if I hadn’t heard them. “Of course, I also couldn’t communicate with my teachers via email, couldn’t download homework assignments and couldn’t check my grades online, all of which I believe you two do on a regular basis. Am I correct?”
“Well yeah, but . . .”
“Why should you reap all the high-tech benefits of getting an education in the 21st century, yet, when it snows, you act like you go to school during the Eisenhower administration. Something has got to give here.”
“We don’t make the rules, Dad. Call the principal.”
“I would but he’s not at school. It’s a snow day, remember?”
“So email him,” my youngest said.
Her sibling cut her off. “Shhhh. We’re losing this battle.”
“Instead of celebrating the fact that we live in a cold-weather climate, let’s rejoice in the awesome world of technology. You,” I said pointing a finger at my high school sophomore, “can use that wonderful iPhone that’s always attached to your body to email your teachers and find out what you were supposed to be doing today. And you,” I continued, shifting my attention to her sister, “should fire up the home PC and do the same.”
“How about I start working on a term paper entitled, ‘The Positive Attributes of Sleeping Until Noon on a Tuesday’?” my eldest said.
“And I’m sure I can do a physics project that has something to do with sledding,” her sister said.
“Not a chance” I said. “I don’t want either of you losing out on a spot at an elite college to some kid from Florida who’s never heard of snow days. From this moment on, the snow day is officially extinct!”
And with that I pulled on my boots, donned ski gloves and ventured out to shovel our driveway. I briefly turned around to see both of them huddled around the home computer.
No doubt Googling “how to disconnect the Internet.”
COPYRIGHT © 2013 GREG SCHWEM DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.
