Snow days

When I was a kid there was nothing I loved more than a snow day - a day where it snowed so much that school was canceled.

It didn’t happen enough in Cumbernauld. If there had been a rain day, we could have had that sucker sorted. But snow very rarely fell heavily enough, for the spoilsports in the education department to close the actual school. So we’d sit in damp classrooms, looking wistfully at the lush white snow falling on playgrounds, desperate to get out there to build a snowman before it all would inevitably melt.

On the few days that the snow actually did lie and we did get a snow day, it generally wasn’t quite as brilliant as I’d planned.

Cold weather attire in Scotland in the 1970s was not the fancy gloves, North Face anorak, or weatherproof trouser that is offered up so abundantly today. In those days, everybody had a duffle coat, a hat and scarf combo knitted by some sadistic aunty, and a pair of gloves that took on the feel of a couple of wet tea bags upon the first touch of snow.

Aside from that, if you weren’t at school it meant that all the other kids in your street weren’t at school either, and there was always some mini douchebag who wanted to throw snowballs at you - I’m looking at you, John Ellis. Or sneak up on you from behind and thrust your face into a pile of snow - Again, I’m looking at you, John Ellis.

I remember how adults saw snow days so differently from us kids. Where we saw the opportunity to play, and the promise of Christmas, they only saw the struggle of trying to get to work with delayed transport, and navigating childcare for kids who were too young to look after themselves. I remember my Nana, who would look after me when my parents were working, terrified that she might fall at any time. She was invariably furious at “selfish wee bizzums” who made slides in the snowy footpaths, declaring that ‘Anyone daft enough to play around in cold weather deserved to have hip replacements.’ (Maybe that’s why I’ve never been inclined to go skiing.)

We don’t get snow days here in The Valley. It’s always too hot. The kids do get days off when the school has to close though. Like this week, for example, Lachlan had three authorized days off school because of the threat of a school shooting.

I’m lying. Only Tuesday and Wednesday were authorized. Monday, Mark and I just decided he wasn’t going in.

We’d known a kid from some other school had been taken into custody for threat the previous week. Then we learned on Sunday night that the kid had been released, and had planned to ‘take out’ all the kids who had grassed on him.

We found this out because all our kids had been talking on Discord. They then - through a process of gathering screenshots and passing them on - managed to inform their parents, and then we in turn informed the school.

The school are not at fault in this, by the way. A school is primarily an educational facility not set up to defend itself from machinegun attack. And information regarding prospective school shootings is random and inconsistent. Conversations take place on computers and on Snapchat. Kids who might want to pack a piece in their rucksack, and take out half a classroom in less than half an hour, tend not to be upfront and vocal about it in the light of day.

I actually have a lot of faith in the school. Two weeks after this term started, I had to inform them about a threatened school shooting and they acted quickly and efficiently. A fourteen-year-old supposedly wanted to take a gun to those who disrespected him. Lachlan had found out about it and knows to talk about such stuff with us. He has become quite adept at knowing when something goes from weird to off.

This time was different though. This time the police were involved with this kid at the other school, who had apparently made a pact with a kid at my kid’s school. The information coming through was difficult to process.

Our rule of thumb we have in Tweddley Manor is the rule of risk versus consequence: For example, when we had to have the inevitable discussion about drugs, Mark and I explained that it might be fine to try drugs, but there is absolutely no guarantee that those drugs won’t be laced with fentanyl. And the consequences of that are life-changing. So even in cases where the actual risk might seem small, if the potential consequence is devastating, that situation is a hard avoid. (Kind of like my Nana taught me with snow sports and potential hip replacements)

Anyway, everything felt off. So Lachlan, Mark, and I agreed no school Monday. Many other kids and their families made the same decision. The school then opted to take the following two days off to let the kids take a breath, and for a more thorough security system to be in place.

It is a small, liberal arts, school where kids make movies, and do dance, and have colored hair. Aside from that, it’s not that different from any other school. And the problems the kids face, are not really so different from the problems that any other American school kids face.

It wasn’t only our school that had to close this week. Because the threat of school shootings are apparently the way of life these days. A whole generation of kids go to class, in the calm acceptance that there’s a possibility that any day could be their last. Fergus, for his part, goes to college which, as of writing this, is threat-free. He does his best to be supportive with Lachlan, to normalize, though his own anxiety levels are affecting his sleep. Our kids now have to be the grown-ups in the room.

I’ve been angry. I’ve been sad. I’ve raged. I’ve sobbed. In the privacy of my own room though, or standing in the far corner of the backyard.

On Tuesday, I caught Mark standing looking out to the backyard. He looked distant, tearful.

“Are you alright?” I asked. “Sure,” he said, pulling himself together, “Just tired.”

“Me too,” I said, and we smiled, knowing.

Because Lachlan needs us to keep it together. To have his back. To not lose our shit, but to hold strong. So we are business as usual.

On Thursday when he went back to school, his bag was searched. He was body scanned. As were all the other kids. Because that’s what happens when you live in a country when those who scream loudly about their Second Amendment rights, were kids several decades ago but still refuse to actually grow up.

As Lachlan had spent the past few days working in his room, I decided to freshen it up for him coming home. But as I picked up his bedding to put it in the washer, I hesitated. And the thought entered my mind that maybe I should leave it, because if he didn’t come home, all I would have would be the scent of him. It was only a momentary thought, but it winded me. What kind of fucked up dystopia have we found ourselves in?

My childhood days were not perfect. There was threat, and poverty, and struggles like anywhere. But the name calling, the ‘childless cat ladies’, and ‘illegals’, and ‘Libtards’ comments were contained in the playground. Someone claiming that another family ate dogs would be told to apologize for their words and sent to detention, not goaded into saying something worse.

I’m not going to lie. I was fucking terrified of John Ellis. He was crazy and unpredictable. He took joy in other people’s suffering. Nobody ever knew what he might do. But what we did know, was that he didn’t have an AK47 in his bedroom. And as terrifyingly out of control as he was, he was a 9-year-old boy growing up in the west coast of Scotland, not a former president of the United States.

When Lachlan came back from school on Thursday, he was fine. The kids were all so happy just to be back around each other. They’d all been stressing about how far they might be falling behind in class. He said a few of his friends weren’t back yet though, as they they hadn’t managed to work out a definite emergency plan with their parents, who worked quite a distance from the school.

I asked him if he wanted to make this a safe house for kids and their parents to rendezvous, and he nodded, saying he thought that was a good idea.

And then we all had pizza, and cake, and told jokes and laughed at Arthur - claiming that he was the creator of Sniffter - a dating site for dogs, and we danced in the kitchen.

We will find our way through this. Our house will be happy - not pensive and anxious. For there is defiance in finding happiness. Rebellion in feeling joy. And there is no greater human quality, than the ability to be kind.

All of us are given a limited time on this little, blue planet, floating in the middle of a dark sea. The fact that we even get life at all, is nothing short of a miracle. But what are we meant to do with that time? Do we bring something to offer to the blue planet, to celebrate the miracle of existence? Or do we steal, cheat, threaten, and promote hate, believing our existence to have no worth at all unless the Earth orbits around us, and not around the sun?

Please vote. If you want to do something positive, just vote, that’s all.

If you reckon there’s no difference between the two political candidates here in America, and so don’t want to bother, I envy you. I really do. It must be so wonderfully freeing to not have to give a shit about anyone who is not specifically you.

If you can’t vote in America, then don’t let the misinformation drown you. There really are a lot of good, smart, kind people here. The whole world is universally struggling to free itself from this era of would-be tyrants. We have problems in each of our countries. Be the solution in your own -the person you would want to have helped you during your own John Ellis years.

Back in the snow days, we were told very clearly, that though we didn’t have class we should spend the time learning. I think I understand that now.

The cold light of day really is the best time to consider the bigger picture.

Xo

Available on Amazon: (US, UK, AUS, CA).

The Audiobook version is also available on Apple Books and Audible.

Learn more about Lynn’s Story work at YouTellYours.com