The Snowman

POSTED IN contemporary poetry December 23, 2018

 

The Snowman

The winter holiday started that year on December 17th and it would have lasted up to January the seventh next year, so a big “school free, not waking up at 7.00, in the darkness, not walking through the snow” bouquet of days was lying ahead.
The holiday with Dad!
It snowed pretty well that December and it kept snowing so that the day before Christmas Eve it seemed a must to build a Snowman!
So, out we went, equipped with gloves and desire to build the biggest Snowman ever! It took three hours to gather the snow, to roll the huge balls, to put them one on top of the other and finally to make the Snowman see, give him a nose and a large smile and a purple cap (my cap!).
Tired and wet the three of us stood watching the new friend, none of us willing to go inside for lunch. Some other neighbour kids played outside watching enviously our Snowman, somehow wanting to join the labour yet yelling, fighting with snow, being restless.
No, the boy would not trust them with such a delicate task: to make a friend!
At length we decided that it is time to eat something and went inside to dry ourselves first. Our balcony window offered the perfect view straight to our new friend place so the eight years old boy had a peek every so often to check on him, the Snowman.
Slowly the darkness covered the trees and only the snow was shining. I was writing something and every once in a while I watched my boy: he was nervously standing near the window, fighting tears.
I didn’t ask yet I went next to him as if something important had to be told and then I saw it all: three toddlers with their Granny were touching our Snowman, talking, laughing…
The boy, tears running over his sweet face, silent as a rock, tried hard not to scream at them : “Go away, don’t hurt him, he is my friend!!”…but I did…I went out, to the balcony and asked politely the old lady to not allow the kids destroy the Snowman…Colour me amazed when one little girl took some snow and caressed the Snowman exactly when the Granny explained: “Oh, no dear, they are simply loving him and wanted to kiss him!”…
I thanked her, I stood still at least fifteen minutes more while my boy joined me on the balcony, supervising somehow that everything is alright. The tears dried away and a serious yet a tad smiley face radiated in the darkened evening.
– It’s all good, I caressed the blond head and the kind heart of an eight years old, they are just happy kids!

That night he slept well, carefree, knowing that his snowy friend is loved by everybody and protected by me
To be eight years old, to have all the toys you want yet to cry for a Snowman, well, this is the Spirit of Christmas.

Now he is sixteen, yet the little boy inside remembers his friend who, one December day told him the secret only children know about Christmas.

 

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