Snow was not super common in Blytheville when I was growing up, but it happened almost every year. Just like kids today, we were excited to have school called off and to join the other kids outside to slide, throw snowballs, and build snowmen. But my mom put a whole new meaning to winter wear in the 60s. First layer was pjs or long underwear, second layer was some sort of pants and sweater, and then, the jacket. All normal things to wear on a frigid snowy day, right? But the outerwear was the marker of my sisters and me. We did not own a ski jacket or water proof pants or boots. Our family did not take ski trips in the 60s and I don’t think too many others in our town did either. It was costly, and we didn’t have the time. Our Christmas breaks were devoted to family and I don’t remember having a Spring Break until I went to college. So Mom looked in her stash of washed and saved bread bags and rubber bands and put them on our hands and feet over our gloves and shoes. At times we had those transparent galoshes that fit over shoes but the bags went over those too, up to our shins. And to top it all off, she put a good coating of Taloin diaper rash cream all over our lips and cheeks. And the stuff was pink. Really pink. And I can still conjure up that smell. I actually put cream on my girls’ faces when they were little before they went out to play in the snow or on ski trips. But it was clear and odorless like A and D or vaseline. Mom’s intentions were about helping out our bodies, but often that choice trumped our feelings. I can remember being so embarrassed to come outside with the bright Wonder Bread red, yellow, and blue circles on my legs and hands and a face that smelled a whole lot like a baby’s bottom, giving a whole new meaning to butt cheeks. And it was nearly impossible to make a snowball with packaged hands! At times, I would look to see if she was watching from the window, and if not, I would stick the bags on a bush until it was time to come in. Negotiating ice and snow with plastic on the bottom of my shoes was a side show in itself, so I learned how to avoid the slick spots by finding the deeper areas of snow in which to walk. It was always a good idea to get permission to go to someone else’s yard to play, but I could never stay out too long without the Wonder Bread bags. Eventually, if I did leave them on, the rubber bands would break and the bags would droop around my shoes like stockings too large for an old woman. I remember wondering if it was worth the hassle of bags and ointment, but getting outside in the snow in the South was worth it. And guess what? During subsequent snows, I would catch a glimpse of bags on some of the other kids. Maybe she was on to something.
