Andy Young: A February whodunit

By Andy Young

Maybe it’s my imagination, but even though I don’t care much for winter, it seems like February goes by far more quickly than any other month on the calendar.

Maybe it’s because of the increasing daylight that comes with each 24-hour passage of time. Another possibility, at least for teachers like me: the month contains a weeklong school vacation. Or there could be a more obvious explanation, like February having fewer actual days than any of the other 11 months, even during a leap year.

Coincidentally, I was born in early February, and this year one of the best gifts I received came the night before my actual birthday, when I (and presumably a couple hundred other faculty and staff in my school district) received a text message from the superintendent explaining that due to anticipated inclement weather, there would be no school in RSU 21 the next day. Woo-hoo! The only thing better than having a birthday snow day in February is knowing ahead of time that you’re going to have one! I joyously shut off my alarm and slept in until nearly 5:30 the next morning. And when I finally did become conscious, I did so with a smile, imagining that I now know for certain what life for the idle rich must be like.

Nothing was falling from the sky when I got up and for a brief moment, I thought the superintendent was doomed to getting pilloried on social media by the district’s perpetual complainers, but fortunately for her snow began falling right when the forecasters had said it would, and by noon there was no question she had made the right call.

One drawback to having a snow day when one’s children have moved away: snow removal becomes a one-person job. And to do that efficiently and lessen the chance of pulling one of my few remaining muscles, my shovel and I go out every two hours or so. At about 3 p.m. I cleared four inches of fluffy white flakes off the driveway, but knew I’d have to return later to finish the job. However, I didn’t think it would be too tough, given the slackening rate at which the snow was falling.

By 7 p.m. the storm was over, but another inch or two needed clearing, and of course there’d be the wall of cinder-block-sized ice chunks the town plow inevitably leaves at the foot of the driveway as well.

But when I got to the end of my driveway there wasn’t any snow. However, there was evidence that someone equipped with a machine had been there, and had cleared everything away for me.

Elated, I raced inside and began pounding out a “thank you” text message to my neighbor Cris, who I’ve caught in the past doing covert good deeds. But then it suddenly occurred to me: what if I were thanking the wrong person? Suppose the driveway-clearer had been Will, who lives across the street and is also prone to committing random acts of kindness? Or maybe it was Dan, the new neighbor with the big snow-throwing tractor. Then again, it could have been Mrs. A, or Angela, or one of Angela’s energetic children, or some other neighborhood kid(s). Who knew?

Then it hit me: the best birthday present of all was realizing there are too many plausible suspects living near me to know for certain who the Good Samaritan was!

I’ve always loved Thanksgiving, but events like the one that occurred on my birthday help me remember that there’s no need to wait for November to feel (and express) sincere gratitude. <