When winter came to my childhood town of Chillicothe, it brought lots of snow. There were lots of hills to slide down where we lived at 24 S. Washington by the viaduct. I remember making sled runs from the highway all the way to the railroad tracks.
Our sleds didn't last to long for us, as we were daredevils and we had three big trees in the yard. Fortunately, my children got to make the same runs as they were growing up. They even talked their Grandma into going with them. I still have the home movie on that one.
Whenever the sledding was done, there was always time for snowball fights. At the corner of Graves and Leeper Streets was an empty lot, it was owned by the George Trager Welding Shop. It was the neighborhood playground for the Dickersons, Sizemores, Hardings and me, the lone Knouse at that time.
In winter, we would divide into teams and build snow forts. We could really pack those snowballs tight just to tear the opponents forts down. And yes, they hurt when they hit you. The littlest ones always got mad and went home crying. I won't say who because after 50 years it still might hurt feelings. Ha Ha. The wet socks and cold feet, the frozen fingers with socks for gloves, pants soaked to the underwear, we would hurry home when done to dry out.
That was when we knew what warmth was. My adventures of playing in the snow as a child are just memories today, but as I watch others I feel the excitement again. I say that lightly because I still throw snowballs, I still sled ride and build snowmen. I just don't build forts, I clear the sidewalks and driveways now.
I don't want to lose that child inside me. I do hope he's still there at 100, if I reach that age.