This winter — the winter that wasn’t — has turned me into That Guy.
It started a couple weeks ago when one of my kids made a plea to be driven to school because “it’s like Alaska out there.” It was 21 degrees Fahrenheit. Without hesitation I responded: “When I was your age, we walked when it was minus 21.”
The moment was lost when one kid asked what minus meant while another asked: “Is infinity an even or odd number?”
But I wasn’t joking. We really did walk when it was minus 21. And we were no different than all the other kids in the neighborhood. But now I am told schools keep kids inside at recess if the temperature drops below 20.
Suffice to say, my kids walked to school that day.
Then, when I came home one day earlier this week, it happened again. That Guy reappeared.
With the temperature close to 70 degrees, my kids were playing outside in short sleeves, prompting me to say: “When I was your age, we didn’t play outside in short sleeves until May.” I continued, “we were still shoveling in March.” I may have even muttered something about my paper route.
Though I am 43, I’ve somehow become trapped in a 93-year-old body. I blame it on our “winterless” winter.
What’s next, me telling them stories about our sole video game — black-and-white Pong — or how we had just seven TV channels, which were enough for us to fight over?
But really, am I wrong here?
Though I am no gloom-and-doom global warming guy, this winter wasn’t right. Birds chirped in February. My kids didn’t pick up a shovel once. We never built a snowman. Heck, we were only able to have one snowball fight. Something is amiss.
Admit it, any lifelong, self-respecting Chicagoan feels not only confused, but a bit guilty. We don’t cheat winter in these parts. We take it head on and beat it. Or we get beat, like last year. But either way, we fight the fight. Until this year.
We also don’t win by forfeit around here. Mother Nature doesn’t take a whole season off.
It’d be like the Packers not showing up on the Bears’ schedule one year. That’s how this winter felt.
We somehow got cheated from turning a corner and walking into a stiff January wind while snow pelted our faces. Scraping ice off our car windows only to come out of the store 30 minutes later to scrape again. Cursing that we still have to shovel in March.
Don’t get me wrong, lots of people don’t need these challenges. Their DNA is different. But they live in San Diego. Or Tampa, Fla. Not Chicago.
In those places, the weathermen aren’t stars. Instead, they can only watch Tom Skilling on cable wondering: “He gets two 10-minute episodes on the nightly news? What is wrong with those people?”
Nothing is wrong with “us people,” at least until this winter. Here we earn our summers. Nothing is given. We gingerly negotiate with Mother Nature, taking whatever she gives us. There is no equality or democracy here. She is master. We are servants.
Yet this winter, the Old Lady took a sabbatical. No doubt, at first we loved it, but now we question it, much like when a stern teacher suddenly goes soft.
And if you are one of those people who doesn’t feel the least bit of guilt this winter, then you should feel a tinge of fear, as Mother Nature usually gets even in Chicago. I am thinking the NATO summit folks better pack gloves for their mid-May conference.
William Choslovsky is a Chicago lawyer.
