I don’t understand why adults don’t play in the snow. Are we simply too busy to play? That can’t be the case. I see adults wasting time doing dumb stuff like taxes all the time. Perhaps, “don’t play in the snow” isn’t technically correct. I saw more than a few (what the locals would colorfully refer to as) “idiots” careening off of snow banks and spinning their tires through snow-packed, neighborhood intersections the other day. And my good buddy from down the street has been in his happy place for a few days now driving his tractor around the neighborhood and plowing out the parking strips in front of everyone’s houses. I suppose that constitutes as adult play.
Hey, I get it. Running around like a maniac and chucking snow balls at each other gets increasingly old the older I get. But that doesn’t erase how cool snow is. It’s like sand, but like water at the same time. It’s cleaner than mud, less annoying than sand, and much cooler than molten lava.
The sounds snow makes are apparently endless. At least I don’t have the energy to categorize them all. And architecturally, it provides some pretty sweet possibilities. Several days ago, we got a few inches of some pretty wet snow that made for nice brick making, so the boys and I started building an igloo from bricks in the backyard. Then the temperature dropped to single digits and dumped another foot of snow. Well, packing bricks went out the window, but leave it to a couple of preteen boys to figure out that if you simply create a huge mound of powdery snow eventually gravity packs it down for you. Then all you gotta do is tunnel into it. Viola! Snow cave. As of yesterday we had a three-room, snow-cave-mound with its yawning entrance facing the kitchen window.
I don’t know, it could just be the fact that as a kid growing up in Texas I’ve reverted to fulfilling all the childhood fantasies I’ve kept tamped down until weather permitted. Perhaps my stunted snow-growth has kept me from reaching expert levels of snow play such as skiing, snowmobiling, and executing complex Sasquatch hijinks. Alas, I’m still stuck in the “building an igloo” phase, because I was never enabled to do so during my childhood years. (At least, my sons won’t feel the same sense of inadequacy I apparently do.)
But maybe it’s not as Freudian as all that. Maybe it’s a simple personality thing, and people simply play in different ways. I like building stuff, so it makes sense that’s how I enjoy playing with snow. I build castles when I go to the beach. I like meditative quite, so I prefer hiking and walking over rip-roaring recreational machinery. I suppose for those of us who enjoy “playing” winter games such as “hold my beer” and “watch me cheat death,” turbo-powered-skies make more sense.
Maybe the key distinction is between recreational play and imaginative play. I suppose adults are perfectly and commonly adept at recreational/performative play. It’s the imaginative play that seems to be lacking. When I look at the matter through that lens, it becomes evident I’ve simply failed to grow up. I’m growing old, no doubt. But I’ve not grown out. Living in an ice-cave still seems like a cool thing to me, and having my own personal one (for at least another week) is, as the kids would say, totally radical.
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