A Snowball Fight

    I peered around the side of the minivan, a snowball in each hand and two more on the bumper, waiting for James and Ian. My reflection in the window with my frost-covered mustache caught my eye. It reminded me of a snowball fight that I had with Sandi when the boys were very young. 

    On a mild late winter evening, we stepped out from our home to enjoy the relative warmth after a long and bitter winter. I inhaled deeply, savoring the promise of spring in the air and looking forward to green foliage again. A melting pile of snow beside the driveway beckoned and, on a whim, I reached down and picked up a handful. It was wet, heavy and packed well, just perfect for snowballs. 

    I looked at Sandi with an evil glint in my eye. Sandi whooped and ran toward another snow bank and the fight was under way, the boys standing safely on the deck and cheering. I threw several, maybe hitting her one time out of three and effortlessly dodged her retaliation. Sandi retreated under my onslaught and took refuge behind a large utility junction box in our front yard. Every now and then, she popped up and launched an easily evaded snowball. 

    Finally, when she was out of sight behind the box, I started tossing snowballs in her general direction, more just to be throwing than trying to score a hit. I had thrown about three or four at her when she straightened up and stood motionless. As she looked at me, I noticed snow packed behind one lens of her glasses and dissolved into helpless laughter. Amazingly, my last loosely packed snowball, gently lobbed in a high arc, had scored a direct hit, right on her lovely face. How many millions of snowballs had been thrown so that I could make that one shot at a target that I couldn’t even see? 

    I knew immediately that our snowball skirmish was over. I would never be able to repeat that one unbelievably lucky shot. I also knew that Sandi wanted retaliation and that I would have to take it like a man. I held up my empty hands. 

    “I give up,” I called, still laughing, but Sandi would have none of it. She came up to me and I wrapped my arms around her, allowing her to dump a handful of heavy, wet snow down the back of my shirt. We stood there for a few minutes, our arms wrapped around each other, laughing like lunatics, and the boys ran up to join us in a group hug. 

    The soft thump of two snowballs hitting my back brought me back to the present. James and Ian had snuck around the other side of the car and ambushed the ambusher. I turned around and looked at them with a stern Daddy look. The boys screamed and ran off across the yard as I chased them, throwing snowballs while they laughed and squealed with delight.

Bill Bartlett and his wife, Sandi, live in Belton with their two sons.