Diary — First Snow

Every Friday in childhood we had to write a weekly diary—sometimes with a given title, sometimes half-given, sometimes a theme. I remember one winter when it snowed heavily and that week’s theme was “snow.” A descriptive essay was hard for us. It was not like a narrative with cause, process, and result that you could simply fill in. Though our earlier narratives were mostly good deeds like “helping an old lady push her cart,” I had never done anything of the sort.

None of us knew how to write it. The teacher, helpless, read aloud a model essay. I listened with full attention. As soon as she finished, I wrote furiously. In the weekly review, my essay on snow actually received an A, and the teacher read it aloud in class. I blushed, though she read it beautifully. I was excited for days; it still lives in my memory.

After that I never received praise in the humanities again, which made that unexpected joy all the more vivid.

Today it snows again. A gray sky, cold air, dirty roads—I have never hated a snowy day this much.