Fry, Party of Five

(An ’80s + ’90s Kid Tries to Understand the New Rules)

When Snow Days Were Rare Gems

When I was a kid, snow days were a rare gem. A unicorn. A whispered rumor that maybe—just maybe—school would be canceled. Now? Now it feels like someone sneezes and the district says, “Let’s call it.”

I say this with love. And coffee. And the lived experience of an ’80s + 90’s childhood where snow days had to earn their keep.

Snow Days Had to Be Earned

In the ’80s, snow days didn’t come easy. They weren’t handed out casually. They required commitment. We’re talking overnight blizzards, snow up to your knees, temperatures that froze your nostrils together.

Even then, cancellation wasn’t guaranteed. You still woke up early, half-dressed, waiting for confirmation. You stood too close to the TV, staring at the scrolling list of school names like it was a sacred text. If your school didn’t show up? Too bad. Grab your backpack.

Snow days were so rare that when they did happen, they felt historic—like something you’d tell your kids about someday. Which—ironically—is exactly what I’m doing now.

No Online School, But Plenty of Cancellations

Here’s the thing: our district doesn’t do online learning on snow days. No Zoom. No Google Classroom. When school’s canceled, it’s canceled. And yet…I feel like there are a lot of cancellations. Snow days. Cold days. Too-cold-to-stand-at-the-bus-stop days. Weather-adjacent concern days.

I swear, sometimes I look outside and think, Is the snow day in the room with us right now? Back then, we went to school in weather that would now trigger an automated alert, a district-wide email, and at least three Facebook posts. We didn’t cancel for cold. We layered.

Cold Weather: Then vs. Now

I distinctly remember waiting for the bus in temperatures that would now be labeled “unsafe for human life.” We wore jeans with no thermal lining, a coat we’d outgrown, and gloves with holes in the fingers. And we stood there. Quietly. Respectfully. Like tiny pioneers.

Now, if it’s too cold to safely wait for the bus—and honestly, that’s fair—school is canceled. I understand the logic. I do. But there’s still a small voice in my head whispering, We would have absolutely gone to school in this.

Snow Day Fun, 90s Edition

When a snow day finally happened in the ’90s, it was a free-for-all. There was no plan. No schedule. No enrichment activities. You went outside. You stayed out too long. You came in soaked. You ate something vaguely warm and went back out again.

Parents yelled your name from the back door if they needed you (if they were even home at all). Otherwise, you were presumed alive. Snow days weren’t about safety protocols or weather windows. They were about squeezing every ounce of joy out of a rare, unexpected gift.

Snow Day Fun, Modern Edition

Snow days now are still fun—but they look different depending on the house. At ours? I open the door, tell my tweens to be smart, and send them outside unsupervised because I am Gen X, and that’s part of growing up. No dry socks are waiting, no planned snacks, no soup simmering on the stove. It’s a full-on free-for-all, the way nature intended.

That said, I know plenty of homes where snow days come with supervision, structure, and carefully timed cocoa breaks. Neither way is wrong—but ours still leans a little feral, and I’m not mad about it.

When Snow Days Lose Their Rarity

The hardest part isn’t the cancellations themselves—it’s that snow days no longer feel rare. They’re expected. Planned for. Built into the calendar. Kids don’t wait with crossed fingers anymore. They check the forecast and assume it’ll be called.

And something about that makes the magic feel a little thinner. Not gone. Just different.

Letting Snow Days Still Feel Special

Even if snow days come more often now, I want them to feel special. I want slow mornings, extra cocoa, more outside time than usual, and less rushing. Because whether they’re rare gems or frequent flyers, snow days still offer something important: a pause, a break in routine, a reminder that sometimes the world says, “Stay home.”

And honestly? I’ll take that—whether it happens once a winter or five times before February.