Like Two Snowflakes, Now Two Sons Are Exactly Alike

I’m constantly reminded, yet continuously amazed, by the differences between my two children.  It’s amazing how both come from the same list of genetic ingredients; yet the recipe varied just enough in each child to produce very different personalities, aptitudes, attitudes and physical features.

Nowhere is this more evident than when they venture out into winter weather. 

As I type this, I am sitting inside the warm, cozy confines of my in-law’s house in Central New York.  This is the area where snow begins falling in October and rarely stops before April, and even sometimes May.  Although my children were disappointed by a green Christmas at my parent’s house in New Jersey, a mere 240 miles and 24 hours later they were treated to an impressive storm which dumped more than a foot of snow on my in-law’s farm.

Both children were salivating to get outside and try out the new snowball maker they received for Christmas.  This is a device that looks like a small suitcase and makes eight snowballs at a time, purchased for the bargain price of $1.99 at the Christmas Tree Shop.  My older son quickly dressed in his snow garb and hightailed it out into the snowy, Central New York tundra. 

My younger son, however, requires a great deal of assistance when suiting up for the great outdoors.  Granted, we probably don’t have the best selection of winter gear to protect them from the cold and snow.  We haven’t introduced them to the wonderful, expensive sport of skiing yet.  To compensate, my younger son wore pajama bottoms underneath his jeans underneath his snow pants.  He put on three pairs of cotton sports socks, however they were ankle socks, the only types he packed.  After layering on three shirts, a hoodie and his winter coat and boots, he pulled on his gloves, hat and face mask and ventured out into the cold.

Unfortunately, not only was he somewhat underdressed for knee deep snow, but he gave his older brother a healthy head start in building a snowball arsenal.  I stood by the front picture window, watching my young son trudge through the snow, following in the same footsteps as his older brother.  As he rounded the enormous pine tree, suddenly a flurry of snowballs came flying out from between the branches.  Quickly, he tried to open his snowball maker, but after several failed attempts with his heavily gloved hands, he angrily threw it into a snowdrift, wailing in frustration.  Snowballs continued to sail out from between the branches, peppering his body until he lost his balance and fell backwards into the deep snow.

30 seconds later, he appeared at the garage door in tears.  I shook the snow out of his gloves, brushed off his boots and sent him back out into the cold.  After all, I wasn’t about to spend a half hour of zipping, tying and tucking only to have him come back in after five minutes.  On top of that, I’d been reading Jon Krakauer’s book, “Into Thin Air”, about the 1996 disaster that left eleven climbers dead on Mt. Everest.  As a result, I had no sympathy for someone with a little snow in his sleeves.

He spent another half hour or so out in the snow, making snow angels before he appeared inside and announced that he was “done”.  Meanwhile, my older son, who had already been outside for more than an hour, was showing no signs of coming in from the cold.  This is a child who almost never ventures outside during any other time of year, opting instead to lie on the couch surfing Cracked.com on the iPad or killing aliens on the Xbox.  As his younger brother sipped hot cocoa and warmed his toes by the heater, my older son helped his grandfather shovel out his truck that had become stuck in the snow, and then began building a snow fort dubbed “McHenry 2”.   At some point I’ll have to lure him into the house with the promise of hot chocolate.  

It’s kind of a mystery how two children from the same parents can have such opposite feelings about snowy weather.  What possible explanation could there be?  I’ll have to ask my husband in between when he comes in from shoveling and goes back out to try out his new snowshoes.  Until then, I’ll just sit here in this toasty, warm house, typing my column.