Each spring, I look back at this picture and it reminds me to be hopeful. Spring WILL come even if we have a late snow. If you look closely, you'll see my Dad on the left. When I was growing up in Lorain, Ohio, my Dad was Superintendent of Streets. That meant he was in charge of street repairs and maintenance.
Winters were hard back then. Once it began snowing in December, we rarely saw the grass again until a March or April thaw. Winters seemed endless. Although as kids, we loved the snow. We built forts and had snowball fights with all our neighborhood friends. It was a great time to be a kid.
There was another side to all that snow. For me, snow meant that my Dad had to go to work. It didn't matter what day or time. If it snowed more than an inch, my dad's job was to call out all the crews who drove the plows to clean the streets. He hated calling them when it was in the middle of the night. He hated calling them when they were spending time with their families.
But we were a family, too. I recall so many Christmases when my Dad would have to call out the crews and go to work himself. It seemed so unfair.
But I learned something from my Dad. He cared for his family with a huge heart and endless love. I knew that. I felt that. But he taught me what it meant to work hard and do what's right. So as he left for work, I knew that he would be home again and we would be celebrating Christmas together.
