Snow is Like Sunshine
Oliver Yukica
Age 12
Thetford, VT
Joseph stared down at his plate. A single egg sat upon it. One. Single. Hard-boiled egg. Joseph sighed, and picked it up. Slowly, he began to pull it apart with his fingers. First, he dug his fingernails into the hard protective shell. Then, he pulled it off and put it aside. He then took the yoke and broke it in half. He proceeded to break it in half again and again, until the pieces were small enough for him to eat. He picked them up one piece at a time, placed them in his mouth, and started to chew.
The eggs were dry. They were always dry, but Joseph didn’t complain. At least he had breakfast. So often, he had no lunch, and he would always get hunger pains in the evening, before dinner, which came from a nearby food shelf. Dinner was always small.
Joseph choked, and spit out a piece of egg. His teeth and gums hurt. He had gingivitis in his gums. His family could not afford health care. And so it was that he had trouble chewing his food.
Joseph pushed his plate away and walked over to his couch. His parents, both working two jobs, were never around. It was winter break. He had more time than anyone could ask for, and nothing with which to fill it.
Books had always been his escape. But now, as he stared at the yellow, withered pages of his childhood comics and graphic novels, Joseph felt an emptiness within them. Boys his age, the age of fifteen, got to read whatever new novels were lining the shelves. But he had no money for books. All the books he had were from his childhood. He had read them cover to cover, over and over again. Just then, Joseph had a thought.
It was a sudden thought, like a candle wick springing into flame. It came all at once. Joseph was taken back, to a very young age. He was four years old, and he was walking in the snow with his mother.
Tears came to Joseph’s eyes, as he remembered his old neighborhood, his old school, his old friends. His other life, the life before the debt was due. Before he moved into this house, with empty plates, empty mouths, empty stomachs. Back then. Back before everything changed.
In his mind—in another time—Joseph was prancing along, as toddlers do. And a single snowflake landed on his nose. His mother smiled and laughed at his attempts to get it off. “Just leave it, Joey,” she said, scooping him up into her arms. “It can’t hurt you.”
“But it’s cooold!” Joseph replied, pouting.
His mother smiled, and held him closer: “Joey, honey, listen to me. You see the pretty snow on the trees?”
Joseph nodded and sniffed. He was tired, and he wanted what was now a cold drop of water on his nose off! Why wouldn’t his mommy let him?
“Treasure this beauty, Joey. It may chill your skin, but the graceful nature of snow is like sunshine: It warms the soul.”
Eleven years later, a boy bearing no likeness whatsoever to the child in the memory stared at an old, wrinkled, comic book, crying. Suddenly, he stopped crying and looked out the window. The snow fell to the ground, softly. Clandestine beauty, disguised by the bitter cold. God’s little gems, a gift for the world. Joseph straightened up, walked to the door, and put on his shoes. He was going for a walk.
Out the door he went, hurrying. The bitter cold chilled him, and he shuddered. Surely, this was a mistake. Surely, he would catch his death. Surely, no one in their right mind ever would — Joseph looked up, and froze, awestruck by the beauty that surrounded him.
It was everywhere, the white finish that nature painted on the trees. The perfect, untarnished silver ocean that rested upon the ground, hiding the hideous, brown grass from sight. the crystalline flakes slowly falling to the ground. No, that’s not right, Joseph thought. Though they were coming down, they were not falling. They were so graceful, so intricate, that they seemed as though they were floating. And they were, Joseph thought. They were not falling but floating in a downward direction. Rain falls. But snow floats. And as the snow floated towards him, Joseph smiled for the first time in years.
He began to walk again, hurrying along. So much to see! So much to do! So much beauty at his fingertips! "Why do people waste their whole lives inside?" thought Joseph. All this just outside their doors! Why build houses with ornate furniture, when the greatest artisan of all is crafting masterpiece after masterpiece, just outside their door?
Joseph had thought himself poor most of his life, but now he knew that that wasn’t true. He and all who lived on this planet were wealthy beyond their dreams. All they had to do was look up. Joseph began to go faster until his pace quickened to a run.
He ran through the snow. He ran through the fields. He laughed as he went along, embracing the full beauty of nature for the first time in years.
He stopped dead in his tracks. A single snowflake had landed right on the rim of his nose. He carefully picked it off and examined it. And as he watched the beautiful crystal’s shape contort, shifting into pattern after pattern as it melted, he began to cry. The sobs began to come faster, and faster until he was as drowned in tears as he was drowned in emotion. The violent sobs shook his body, as he thought about all the pain and misery of his life. All the years of torment, of being “the poor kid,” of going to food pantries, of having an aching stomach crying out for food.
Yet as he cried, he felt joy mixed in with the sadness. Because, for the first time in his life, he felt the stirring of meaning. He had something to work for, something to protect. And he realized nothing was more important than this: this pure, beautiful sculpture, untouched by man or woman.
Joseph got down on his knees. The snow soaked his legs, but he didn’t care. People talk of protecting things, he thought, but until now he hadn’t found anything worth protecting.
Joseph was filled with a need, a need to do something, to protect this beauty. Because if it was destroyed, no creation of man could fill the space it left.
Joseph returned home, a different boy. He was no longer a sad, sobbing child looking at wrinkled comic pages. He had spent hours and hours outside. He was reborn.
When his parents returned home, their faces sagged, the bags underneath their eyes clearly visible. The years of poverty had taken a toll on them.
Joseph’s mother looked at him, and managed a smile: “How was your day, Joey?”
To her surprise, Joseph returned the smile, and said, “In all of history, there has never been another day like today!”
Oliver Yukica
Age 12
Thetford, VT
Joseph stared down at his plate. A single egg sat upon it. One. Single. Hard-boiled egg. Joseph sighed, and picked it up. Slowly, he began to pull it apart with his fingers. First, he dug his fingernails into the hard protective shell. Then, he pulled it off and put it aside. He then took the yoke and broke it in half. He proceeded to break it in half again and again, until the pieces were small enough for him to eat. He picked them up one piece at a time, placed them in his mouth, and started to chew.
The eggs were dry. They were always dry, but Joseph didn’t complain. At least he had breakfast. So often, he had no lunch, and he would always get hunger pains in the evening, before dinner, which came from a nearby food shelf. Dinner was always small.
Joseph choked, and spit out a piece of egg. His teeth and gums hurt. He had gingivitis in his gums. His family could not afford health care. And so it was that he had trouble chewing his food.
Joseph pushed his plate away and walked over to his couch. His parents, both working two jobs, were never around. It was winter break. He had more time than anyone could ask for, and nothing with which to fill it.
Books had always been his escape. But now, as he stared at the yellow, withered pages of his childhood comics and graphic novels, Joseph felt an emptiness within them. Boys his age, the age of fifteen, got to read whatever new novels were lining the shelves. But he had no money for books. All the books he had were from his childhood. He had read them cover to cover, over and over again. Just then, Joseph had a thought.
It was a sudden thought, like a candle wick springing into flame. It came all at once. Joseph was taken back, to a very young age. He was four years old, and he was walking in the snow with his mother.
Tears came to Joseph’s eyes, as he remembered his old neighborhood, his old school, his old friends. His other life, the life before the debt was due. Before he moved into this house, with empty plates, empty mouths, empty stomachs. Back then. Back before everything changed.
In his mind—in another time—Joseph was prancing along, as toddlers do. And a single snowflake landed on his nose. His mother smiled and laughed at his attempts to get it off. “Just leave it, Joey,” she said, scooping him up into her arms. “It can’t hurt you.”
“But it’s cooold!” Joseph replied, pouting.
His mother smiled, and held him closer: “Joey, honey, listen to me. You see the pretty snow on the trees?”
Joseph nodded and sniffed. He was tired, and he wanted what was now a cold drop of water on his nose off! Why wouldn’t his mommy let him?
“Treasure this beauty, Joey. It may chill your skin, but the graceful nature of snow is like sunshine: It warms the soul.”
Eleven years later, a boy bearing no likeness whatsoever to the child in the memory stared at an old, wrinkled, comic book, crying. Suddenly, he stopped crying and looked out the window. The snow fell to the ground, softly. Clandestine beauty, disguised by the bitter cold. God’s little gems, a gift for the world. Joseph straightened up, walked to the door, and put on his shoes. He was going for a walk.
Out the door he went, hurrying. The bitter cold chilled him, and he shuddered. Surely, this was a mistake. Surely, he would catch his death. Surely, no one in their right mind ever would — Joseph looked up, and froze, awestruck by the beauty that surrounded him.
It was everywhere, the white finish that nature painted on the trees. The perfect, untarnished silver ocean that rested upon the ground, hiding the hideous, brown grass from sight. the crystalline flakes slowly falling to the ground. No, that’s not right, Joseph thought. Though they were coming down, they were not falling. They were so graceful, so intricate, that they seemed as though they were floating. And they were, Joseph thought. They were not falling but floating in a downward direction. Rain falls. But snow floats. And as the snow floated towards him, Joseph smiled for the first time in years.
He began to walk again, hurrying along. So much to see! So much to do! So much beauty at his fingertips! "Why do people waste their whole lives inside?" thought Joseph. All this just outside their doors! Why build houses with ornate furniture, when the greatest artisan of all is crafting masterpiece after masterpiece, just outside their door?
Joseph had thought himself poor most of his life, but now he knew that that wasn’t true. He and all who lived on this planet were wealthy beyond their dreams. All they had to do was look up. Joseph began to go faster until his pace quickened to a run.
He ran through the snow. He ran through the fields. He laughed as he went along, embracing the full beauty of nature for the first time in years.
He stopped dead in his tracks. A single snowflake had landed right on the rim of his nose. He carefully picked it off and examined it. And as he watched the beautiful crystal’s shape contort, shifting into pattern after pattern as it melted, he began to cry. The sobs began to come faster, and faster until he was as drowned in tears as he was drowned in emotion. The violent sobs shook his body, as he thought about all the pain and misery of his life. All the years of torment, of being “the poor kid,” of going to food pantries, of having an aching stomach crying out for food.
Yet as he cried, he felt joy mixed in with the sadness. Because, for the first time in his life, he felt the stirring of meaning. He had something to work for, something to protect. And he realized nothing was more important than this: this pure, beautiful sculpture, untouched by man or woman.
Joseph got down on his knees. The snow soaked his legs, but he didn’t care. People talk of protecting things, he thought, but until now he hadn’t found anything worth protecting.
Joseph was filled with a need, a need to do something, to protect this beauty. Because if it was destroyed, no creation of man could fill the space it left.
Joseph returned home, a different boy. He was no longer a sad, sobbing child looking at wrinkled comic pages. He had spent hours and hours outside. He was reborn.
When his parents returned home, their faces sagged, the bags underneath their eyes clearly visible. The years of poverty had taken a toll on them.
Joseph’s mother looked at him, and managed a smile: “How was your day, Joey?”
To her surprise, Joseph returned the smile, and said, “In all of history, there has never been another day like today!”
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