Waiting to Cry: Travails of a Long Journey

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It was March 1977, and the harsh winter began to give way to forty-degree weather. We have survived another harsh winter a winter in most eyes that was unforgiving. Most cars lay buried deep beneath the snow, not a single indentation of a cars roof but level ground as far as the eye could see. The snow must have been at least ten feet deep if it wasn’t a foot. January’s harsh weather was far from being over; ice lined the edges of the sidewalks, turning into slush sliding down the sewers, cleansing the streets as its final winter act. I must say, if I said I didn’t mine the snow, I would be lying are being paid to make such a ridiculous statement. I hated going to school in the early mornings during the winter months. I also hated going to school in the early mornings in the spring and fall months. I guess you can say I didn’t enjoy the educational process.