Anika's Blog Post

They say we must live in the moment, yet today, I cannot help but live in the past; back to the time of careless winters, when the bitterness of Independence Hall brought a crystalline joy to my childish heart. For your father and I, the winter sun always had a way of bringing out purity in the heaven-given snow, serving as a blank page for our merriment, inviting our feet to play and our spirit to vibrate in laughter. Day in and day out we would perform, frolicking and twirling in front of the vast emptiness of Independence Hall. Our fellow audience, the properly poised, snow-blanketed trees, would stand as our respectful guests, applauding and swaying in delight as the seasonal gusts would swoop in and turn our noses a cherry red. After we respectively showed the world our graceful dances, we would plop down in the bitter cold snow, shrieking with laughter as we created deformed angels in the pearly white, never-ending field of happiness. The winter, as children, brought such joy, such brilliant times, but by the age of ten, those feelings of happiness only diminished into sorrow and hard work. Start the fire, Mama would say, chop the bark, Papa would holler, sew the blankets, Granny would scold as your father and I would attempt to sneak out and get a slight taste of the snow. Sickness was something no man could afford back then, but our labor-dependent family especially could never have. With Papa barely able to put food on the table, a doctor was an unimaginable expense. Therefore, our already immune-deficient bodies would cripple at the sight of one simple illness, and in Papa’s words that would mean “no money, no food, no warmth, and a closer death.”And of course, your father loved his food way too much to give it up for some cold; so by the age of ten, we gave up our love for snow and gave into the labor-intensive chores needed to upkeep our bitter cold  home. However, today- the sunshine and the cold, the sparkle and the ice, the warmth and the wind- somehow makes me reminisce of the old, old days of when your magnificent father and I were your age. Oh what I would give to dance for those trees one more time! Young boy, I tell you, treat every day of your play like it is your last, for when you become my age, with bones that crack in the middle of the night, you will wish you cherished these moments more. Now, my beloved nephew, we better be getting inside, it sounds like our supper is ready!