A Blizzard and Me

 It was 1951. I was five years old, in kindergarten and walking home alone from school in a blinding snowstorm which had turned into a blizzard . My school wasn’t close. It was a mile away from home. Bundled in a bulky snowsuit, an oversized scarf, a wool hat pulled down as far as I could manage and still see, and unlined rubber boots, I was cold, covered in snow and having a difficult time navigating the huge snow drifts accumulating all around me on the un- shovelled sidewalks. But I don’t remember being afraid. Mostly I remember being cold and feeling I wasn’t making much progress towards home. So I did what my five-year-old brain considered to be the most logical thing to do: I hid.

Why my mother choose to send me to school that day has always been a mystery to me. I attended afternoon kindergarten and it was already snowing heavily when she sent me off alone at noontime. My next-door neighbor and best friend’s mother kept her home. When I went to call her for school her mother answered the door to tell me the snow was too heavy and it was too cold to have Agnes walk all the way to school. I wasn’t quite sure why it was too much for Agnes and not for me. But off I went . . . alone.

I hid in a stairwell. Actually it was a broken down stairway leading to a small square of cracked, pitted cement that served as an entranceway to what we now call “a garden apartment.’’ Then it was called a basement apartment. It was still cold down there and there was some snow but at least I was out of the blinding wind and bitter cold. I don’ remember if I felt safe but I was snug and a bit warmer. I sat and watched as the snow continued unabated and then became mesmerised as the snow turned to sleet. The sleet added an icy glimmer to the snow and clung to everything in sight – – tree branches, bushes, cars – – turning my working class neighbourhood into a beautiful twinkling wonderland.

I had seven siblings: five older, two younger. Back at home the older ones began arriving from their school. (As a kindergartener I attended the “public school” while they were all in the local Catholic school). After awhile I suppose my mother finally missed me. With all those kids I guess it was easy to lose count of who was home and who wasn’t but finally the alarm bells went off in her head. “Where is Jeffie!” was shouted up and down Marshfield Avenue. Neighbor’s doors were pounded on and a frantic cry went out: “We can’t find our little sister,” and “ Has anyone seen Jeffie?”

How they ever found me in that dark tunnel of a stairwell I was in, I never determined. And I don’t really recall which of my six brothers found me. I think it was either Joe or Mickey but I’m really not sure. I do remember that it was very dark when I was pulled out and put on a sled for the long ride home.

It didn’t seem traumatic at the time, but it does stand out as one of the most vivid memories of my early childhood. Did it make me frightened, afraid of being alone? In the short term maybe but in the long haul I believe it made me stronger, make me realize that I could not only survive but could do so using my own wits.

© Eileen Murphy Donnersberger