My earliest memory is of snow. I was three years old, and our Chevy Citation was stuck. We couldn’t get enough traction to climb the final hill to Uncle Ben and Aunt Debbie’s Vermont home.
It was dark. The falling snow was fat and brilliant in the headlights. It was piled deep. Uncle Ben came down to put chains on the tires. I was about to pop with excitement. I had a new pair of cowboy boots, and I couldn’t wait to pull them on and get in that snow. Daddy? Uncle Ben? You need help with them chains? I got boots! Cowboy boots.
Obviously, chains will give you more traction than cowboy boots. But the joy of a child might be what gets you up the hill.