We’ve had a few days of heavy snow, followed by warm temperatures, optimum snowball weather. This got me thinking, “does one ever outgrow the urge to throw a snowball at a completely unsuspecting person or a passing vehicle”? I suppose that would assume that you have ever been in possession of that urge, desire, or ability in the first place.

Urge, desire, and ability, are all necessary components. The trifecta that precludes one stooping with a smirk to scoop a handful of snow, which possesses just the right moisture level, packing and smoothing it into a snowy sphere (still smirking), and then delivering, in varying velocities and angles, towards the intended target.

Although a smirk is still detectable at this moment, some of the “smirkiness” has faded into gleeful anticipation, or perhaps, pensive apprehension if the target happens to be someone that maybe you shouldn’t have thrown a snowball at. Maybe…maybe not…only one way to find out. As Willy Shakespeare once said, “Boldness be my friend.” Sometimes friends get us beat up. So it goes.

Snuggie by association, the bane of any scrawny 8th grader whose equally scrawny, but bolder, buddy just mouthed off to a couple of J. Geils Band t-shirt wearing, Trans Am driving, feathered hair seniors. So I’ve heard.

Sometimes urge and desire overshadow the ability to peddle your Underoos (Superman…yeah right) out of harms way. A fresh pair of back-to-school Toughskin jeans can further hinder any hopes of escape and evasion, as you won’t be able to properly bend your knees to peddle your mag-wheeled Coast-King at full speed until at least May Day.

The urge and desire I felt as I walked across campus, surrounded by a blanket of fresh fallen temptation, brought that oh so familiar snowball contemplation smirk to my face.

A smirk that I think our campus President may have been a bit too preoccupied to fully notice as we passed each other on the sidewalk, exchanging the habitually common pleasantries adults generally exchange with those they know, but don’t really know.

As we walked in opposite directions, I contemplated the appropriate distance that should be allowed in this particular case. I have no beef with the President, he’s a genuinely kind and caring individual, who treats everyone on campus with authentically humble respect. He acts like one would hope a president of any institution, or perhaps a country, would act.

As this snowball would not be thrown out of malice, or intent to bruise, it would need to be packed lightly and projected towards the target on a gentle arc towards a space between the shoulders and the beltline. Too high or too low would be trouble. Beyond snuggie trouble I suspect.

An inadvertent head shot would be disastrous, as regardless of intent, head shots always illicit anger. Anger that is further fueled by the stream of melting snow snaking its way down your goosebumped back.

Alternatively, a rump shot, although quite humorous when your target is a fellow 12-year old, may sway towards slight humiliation for the 60-year old president of an institution of higher education.

Urge, desire, ability…they were all present and accounted for, but suddenly an odd feeling came over me, and the snowball smirk faded a bit. The odd feeling of adulthood and all its trappings of reason, logic, and common sense.

A bit of smirk fell in the snow that day. Spring thaw is coming, maybe it’ll show up?