"The snow day email arrives before dawn, glowing softly on my phone. Even after all these years, that early morning message still feels like a small miracle a quiet signal that the city has agreed to pause. As a child, it felt like winning a secret lottery. As an adult and a school principal, the feeling hasn't left me."
"I come from people who carry sun in their bones, yet I grew up shaped by snow. In Jamaica, warmth was assumed and rain was something to feel rather than escape. My Caribbean parents approached the cold with practicality. I was born in Canada, and they taught me how to survive winter, not how to love it. Warmth, for them, was home. Because of them and our travels back to their homeland, I often found myself nostalgic for Jamaican warmth even in Toronto summers."
"Snow days carry a tenderness that lives beneath the surface of winter. A reminder that rest can arrive unexpectedly and without permission. Growing up, winter wasn't romantic. It was heavy coats, wet socks, wind that made my eyes water and cars that needed scraping before they would co-operate. Winter was something to get through."
Snow day emails arrive before dawn and evoke a feeling of small miracles and a city-wide pause. Snow days carry tenderness, offering unexpected rest without permission. Childhood winter memories blend joy—snowmen, cold-kissed faces and clumped boots—with hardship—heavy coats, wet socks and cars needing scraping. Caribbean family origins emphasized warmth and practical strategies for surviving cold rather than embracing it. Growing up between Jamaican warmth and Canadian snow produced a blended identity that values both the sun held in family memories and the quiet, steady shaping influence of winter experiences.
Read at www.cbc.ca
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