The first time I remember seeing snow I was when I was 11 years old. Growing up in the Mid-South, snow rarely came and when it did it didn’t stick. This morning was a few weeks before Christmas. I woke up to my younger siblings yelling through our house, about there being snow in our backyard echoing through the halls. I hopped out of bed, to throw my curtains to discover a white wonderland. I joined in the yelling, causing the neighborhood dogs to sing along to our chorus. I ran to my closet, grabbing the largest yellow coat I could find and ran outside. The snow crunching under my feet and being able to see my breath were the first things I noticed. I bent over to scoop a ball in my hand and tossed it at my brother. After several minutes of snow fights, the adrenaline wore off making me realize I couldn’t feel any of my fingers….