Eric shot ahead of the group of six of us who were walking along the boulevard. Thomas was behind him with a snow ball. That is when I knew that no holds were barred. I gave the bag that I was carrying to Catherine, for it looked like she was not going to join in. Everyone else was reaching for snow. This was the kind of snow that even bare hands can make good use of.
As volleys of snow began to increase I heard Catherine call out to the children, “Make sure some of the snow you pick up is yellow.” Everyone ignored her.
Eric was running ahead and aiming at those of us who were far behind him. He was in hidden driveways as we would walk by. Catherine was coaching the kids. “Your dad is not well protected. Look his jacket is open at the front and his shirt is not tightly button around his neck. Make your snowballs have a high arch and land where he is vulnerable.”
No one would have known who made the first direct hit down Eric’s neck until they heard the loudest guffaw of the event, which came from Rebecca.
By the time we got to school only one person had been injured:
Catherine, Rebecca, Thomas, Catie, Arta: all fine
Eric: his injury? -- one torticollis
Love,
Arta
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