Dear Jack Frost
You are the trigger of joy in not only children, but fiction-driven adults like myself as well.
Your reputation precedes you, Jack Frost. You are quite the celebrity among children, who later grow up and tell their own children about you. Your unique role, among other fiction staples, is bringing snow days every winter and sparking joy among children who eagerly run outside with their gloves, ice caps, and coats to build snowmen and make snow angels.
But to me, you are so much more than a fictional character told to children in bedtime stories every night. To me, you bring a playful wonder to the lens I use to perceive life. You are the freedom of the soul’s foolishly childish notions adults confine in the deepest parts of their hearts — but you coerce me to allow such notions to roam freely through me. Your boisterous attitude shines so bright, that it compels others to allow themselves to relent and finally set their souls free.
You make me wish I lived in a place where it snows, just so I could chase snowflakes before they melt. Just so I could spin in circles with snow falling and coating my shoulders. Just so I could lay on the snow and make snow angels like a child. You, Jack Frost, bring out the childish notions I carry with me.
As we grow older, we are told to behave as such — older. And my God, it is such an ugly word, and I stubbornly refuse to succumb to its light, snuffing ways. To be older does not mean to let go of the youthful spirit you have. To be older is to gather with friends and family, and teach the younger members of the gathering how to do a snow angel, by yes — doing it yourself. And just watch how you laugh and start an inevitable snowball fight with everyone else.
This is the joy Jack Frost brings with his snow days. Sparking a youthful joy to build snowmen, throw snowballs at one another, taste snowflakes, and make snow angels.
If given the opportunity to experience that, I would. And once I’ve had enough, I could trek back home and treat myself to a glorious cup of hot chocolate beside the heater, with a good book, and tuck myself under a cosy blanket.
Thank you for your snow days, Jack Frost. I may not have experienced them just yet, but I expect myself to one day, and I promise to cherish them as they are meant to be cherished.
