The York Guardian

For one glorious day I was transported back to my public school days at West Prep in Forest Hill. Back then, snowy days like Sunday were heaven to me and my friends. Trudging through the snow in our galoshes, having snowball fights, making angels in the snow, having snowball fights, tobogganing, having snowball fights, shoveling the sidewalk and driveway, having snowball fights. Did I mention the snowball fights? And to top it off, coming home for a Nestle hot chocolate with a marshmallow on top. Yummy num nums.

And on Sunday I relived all of those great moments of yesteryear all over again.

Except for one detail. Sadly, Mom is no longer around to make me a hot chocolate, so I had to trek up the street with my trusty Sherpa guide Tenzing Himmelfarb to get one at the Second Cup. As fate would have it, in line I ran into Mark, a childhood buddy of whom I was just speaking.

"Is this great or what?" Mark asked, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"On balance, I'd have to say both," I said, grinning from ear to frostbitten ear.

"You know, Jamie, my memory ain't what it used to be, but this weather seems exactly like it used to be like in December back when we were kids, doesn't it?"

"Now that's a ridiculous statement if I ever heard one," I snickered.

"You don't remember December days like this?" Mark said incredulously.

"I do, but that's not the issue here. You just got through telling me that your memory ain't what it used to be. Ergo, how the heck would you know what the weather used to be like when you were a kid? Wouldn't you need a good memory to remember that?"

"Huh," he replied perplexed.

"You just admitted your memory isn't what it used to be, so any comparisons that you make with the past wouldn't hold water, or in this case, snow. Any of mine, on the other hand, would be completely valid."

"OK, then forget what I said about the memory part," he said. "Let's just focus in on the weather part."

"But I can't forget about the memory part. I told you, I have an excellent memory."

A red-faced Mark tried to dance his way out of the semantic mess he created for himself. Which, by the way, isn't easy to do when you're wearing Mukluks.

"OK, let me put it a different way. Didn't this remind you of the kind of day when we would wake up and the family would all sit around the radio waiting to see if school was going to be cancelled that day?"

"Absolutely not," I said. "We didn't have school on Sundays. But I wouldn't expect you to remember that with your failing memory and all."

"I didn't mean on a Sunday, nimrod. I meant any day," he growled.

"Not Saturday, I hope. We didn't have school on Saturdays either."

Mark knew he was beaten. So it was time to turn the tables.

"Wait a minute," he replied. "Now my memory is coming back to me after all. You were real obnoxious as a kid, weren't you?"

"Sorry. I forgot what you just said? Omigod, now I've lost my memory. Imagine that? You rediscover yours and I lose mine a second later. What are the odds?"

"You know there's one way to settle all this," Mark said.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I countered.

"That's right, know-it-all. Snowball fight. West Prep. Ten minutes. Be there."

"Oh, I'll be there tough guy. Just don't start whining like you always did that you forgot your mittens and say you have to back out at the last second."

Mark was incensed.

"How would you know I always forgot my mittens if you just lost your memory?"

"Omigod, it came back again. It's a Christmas miracle."