Snowballs, Chaos, and the Imaginary Medal of Honor

 Ahh, the feeling of winter as a child. It’s fun, exhilarating, but most of all peaceful. Then there’s that one little burst of madness when you seem to be enjoying yourself, then a flying white ball smacks you in the face. Whether you’re a kid or an adult, none of that can fly. You pack a ball with your gloves, you ready your weapon, aim, fire and then it’s war. Rewinding a few years back, the only thing I had to look forward to in winter was grabbing my sled, going to the highest hill in the creek, and driving down it. I had only seen snowball fights in cartoons, so naturally I wanted to be a part of one. When I was about six or seven, my brother Jack was about five and we were outside in the backyard with my dad, enjoying the winter breeze. Then three medium sized kids in winter coats, hats and gloves emerged from the other side of the creek and threw snowballs at us. I knew that at last I would experience a true snowball fight, so we took up the challenge and fired back.

     It was total chaos and we loved every minute of it, I dodged every snowball that whizzed past my head while my dad provided ammo for Jack and I as pandemonium was insured. However, while Jack and I kept firing and hitting our targets, there was one particular enemy that wouldn’t give up. He had hit us with his seemingly unlimited ammunition of snow, he had hit Dad with plenty, which limited our ammo, and I was with my last snowball. I looked at my target as he kept rushing to the left as I arched my arm and then I threw with all of the power in my arm. The snowball flew with so much speed and velocity and crashed into my target’s face! I felt like I had won the Medal of Honor, my heart jumped for joy and my mind was filled with exhilaration as the enemy retreated. We had won our first snowball fight, and the happiness was well deserved for such a great victory.