“Mom, where’s my heavy jacket?”
“Your coat should be in the closet.”
“But it’s freezing outside.”
I wasn’t exaggerating. After two full weeks of summer weather, when we had two pedestal fans in the front of our classroom to share what little comfort we received from our open windows, an arctic cold front swooped in from the north. Jack Frost hadn’t given us a heavy coating, and our windows hadn’t been touched. But, after 14 days of 80-degree-plus temperatures, this felt like Antarctica.
Mid-September had lived up to its reputation, breaking the summer weather like a delicate ice sculpture and making me wonder if a glacier had moved in next door.
“Where are my wool socks?” My feet always got cold first.
“Wherever you left them last spring.”
“Have you seen my stocking cap?”
“Look in your sock drawer.”“I can’t find either of them. Are you sure that’s where they are?”
“Move things around.” Mom took a deep breath. “This is ridiculous. It’s already up to 36 and supposed to get over 60 by the time school’s out. You’re going to roast if you wear your winter clothes to school today. Worse, everyone will laugh at you.”
I kicked a T-shirt toward the laundry hamper. “I guess you’re right. Remember what I’m wearing so you can identify my body after I freeze solid.”
Mom enveloped me in a warm hug and kissed my forehead. “I’ll always know you anywhere. And you’re going to be just fine. Wear your ball cap and keep your hands in your pockets. You’ll thank me when you come home.”
Unlike the TV forecasters, Mom was true to her word. I came home carrying my jacket and, once inside, made a beeline to her, where I gave her a big hug. “Thanks, Mom.”