In the fall of 1991, I moved back to my old stomping grounds in Pennsylvania when I landed a teaching position at Praise Christian Academy in North Versailles, Pa., a suburb of Pittsburgh.

It has been six years since my family had packed up our belongings and left my childhood home for greener pastures in Springfield, Missouri where I had recently finished my freshman year in college.

Being the son of a minister, I never had a place to call my own. To me, home was the place where I laid my head to rest at night. Being a nomad, “home is where the heart is” became a favorite saying of mine.

However, since I spent most of my Elementary in high school years in and around the Pittsburgh area, I considered that part of the state my home.

One of the things I was looking forward to were those Pennsylvania winters. I couldn’t wait until the first snowflakes began to fall. I remember reveling in it as a child when I was able to stay home from school and play in the snow.

Although, I quickly learned that being an adult in the same circumstances was quite a different matter. I can remember digging my car out of the snow many times during the three winters I lived there.

Driving in the white stuff wasn’t much fun either. I learned to drive in snow by trial and error.

I remember getting stuck on a patch of ice while driving up a small grade from the shopping center that left my tires spinning. After several times of trying, I gave up and decided to go a different way.

This way was not any better. In fact, it was a steeper incline and I got stuck once again. However, being a main thoroughfare with many vehicles behind me, I didn’t have much choice but to keep trying.

So after several times of rocking the car back and forth over the slick ice with a lot of skidding tires with burning rubber, I managed to get up the hill and make it safety back home.

Even though it wasn’t much fun driving in the snow, I still enjoyed getting out and playing in the white stuff.

I remember the first day the snow started falling that winter. It was on a school day. Everyone was so excited and making plans for what they were going to do when they got home. There was even talk of the school day being cut short.

By lunch time, a good three inches laid on the ground covering the school property. Just as excited as my students about the thought of getting out and playing in the snow, I just couldn’t wait.

I decided to take my class outdoors and brave the bitter cold as gusts of wind blew the falling snow in the whirlwind.

It was such fun.

I stood there with my mouth open catching a little white crystals on my tongue just like I did as young boy.

It had been so long since I had made a snow angel, I didn’t care that I wasn’t dressed for it. I threw myself on the ground feeling the dampness of the snow around my body as I hurriedly flapped my arms and legs to form a beautiful sight.

It wasn’t long after that when the snowballs began to fly.

I was so caught up in the moment that I joined in on my students delight of the winter wonderland never giving it a second thought to the school rules I was violating about not throwing snowballs.

I just didn’t think about it. I was having too much fun beaming my students with the balls of snow. And let me tell you, they were certainly not afraid to return the favor. I think I got hit on nearly every part of my body, including a couple to the head.

While I was enjoying the playfulness with most of my students, a couple of the boys were having a knock-down drag-out fist fight.

I never even knew about it until several minutes later when I finally had enough of the wind and cold and brought my students indoors.

It was then that I learned of my students mishap.

I was horrified that it involved the top student in the class, one I never even thought capable of such an act of violence. But after another student kept hitting him in the face with snowballs, he snapped.

After spending nearly a half-hour outside in the frosty weather, I was dripping wet from all of the foolish antics I participated in along with my students.

Sending the remainder of my class back to the classroom, I had to face the school principal looking like a slightly melted version of “Frosty the Snowman” to deal with my two unruly students.

I didn’t have the heart to punish them for their brawl which began from flying snowballs, an act that I was a gleeful participant.

I took full responsibility for their actions and vowed nothing like that would ever happen again.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I left the principal’s office, as did my students.

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By Mark S. Price

Contributing columnist

Mark S. Price is a former city government/county education reporter for The Sampson Independent. He currently resides in Clinton.