Weaponizing Water (The Snowball Post)

Hey all,

In keeping with the rather oddball tone of this blog, I've decided to write something a bit light hearted for the holiday season. I recently had a good friend of mine list about 10 things in rapid fashion that she loved about the Christmas season. They were times of good cheer and giving and all around warm hearted ideas about this magical season. I did not disagree with her, the Holiday Season is one truely of enchantment and wonder. Today though, I wanted to pay tribute to another holiday staple:

                                                        The Snowball (Projectilus Snowballis)

Yes, the snowball. No other projectile has so captured the human imagination and been non-lethal at the same time. The snowball combines the paradox of the ability to unleash hell and yet at the same time ellicit warm and fuzzy memories of winters past. Without further waxing philosophically, I have outlined the top five snowball based memories of my life, many of which, I am sure we have all felt once in our lives.

5. The First Snowball - Make Food Not War

I do not actually remember this incident, so in many ways I'm probably cheating. It most likely occured when I was 2, 3, or 4 years of age, but I really can't be sure. On the other hand, I know it happened. In fact I can step by step recreate exactly what happened from the beginning, middle and end. I know it happened this way because I've seen it happen to every child I've ever watched. It's the first time I made and then subsequently ate my first snowball.

Pictured: Every Child Ever

 If there is ever a justification for the fact that mankind is not born evil, it is what we do with our first snowball. I have seen children make snowballs. It goes something like this:

1.) Sit in snow
2.) Push around snow with arms or legs
3.) Realize that this snow can be turned into ball which can be picked up
4.) Eat said ball of snow.

No child I have ever witnessed, starts by throwing the snow. We eat it. Perhaps this says we are good at heart. Perhaps it says that we are all consumers. Perhaps it means that ultimately humanity corrupts our delicate peaceful nature. I don't know. But it does tell us one thing: At age 4, snowballs taste awesome.

4. Weaponizing cold water: Target Mickey

I do not know per say if this was the first time I threw a snowball, but I can say its the first time I remember it. In addition, somewhere deep down in the Cummings family archives this snowball is captured on film as well, making it that much better.
Let me set the scene: Winter 1990 (ish). Mickey and I are sitting on the ground in the snow, both of us unable to move due to our small size and the gratuitious amount of snow clothing we are wearing.




you know you looked like a giant stuffed animal too


For those of you who can't remember (or have blocked out their childhoods because of deep emotional trauma), wearing snow clothing at this age allows you to move but only in immediate area around you much like a sea anemone.

Kinda like Nemo's house

 It was here that I delivered one of my favorite snowballs ever. It was probably more like a snow boulder, but it still counts. As previously stated, my sister Mickey and I had been placed side by side in the snow to "play" together. This essentially meant that we would sit and eat snow and be videotaped, for 30+ minutes. Much like the first time apes learned to use tools, something changed in that time. Sick of eating snow, I felt a need to do something more, to build a bigger snowball. To create, strive, and reach the next level of snowball maturity. With this great leap, I took this snowball, nay this grand creation, and promptly lifted it above my head like Simba to Rafiki as to say "look at my grand creation!"

And then with malice aforethought, I dropped it straight on Mickey's head.

I do not know if this was my first snowball, but it is certainly the first I remember. In my eyes it was perfect. Video evidence shows that Mickey had no idea it was coming. The snow got in her hood, down her neck, and she began wailing. It was a complete victory. Sure I got punished by Mom, but the fact that I recount this story today proves just how much it was worth it.

Mickey got her revenge. She waited 8 long years. During my first communion (ironically also my first confession as well, thus absolving me of the crime in the eyes of God), Mickey made sure to not smile once during any photos, thus ruining any celebration.

well played...

3. The Snowball That Never Was.

My cousin, Brendan Delaney, makes two appearances on this list, both of which are etched in my mind forever. This one, I think Brendan would hope I never remembered.

Back in the day, I don't think anyone was better with a snowball than Brendan. The man knew how to craft and throw snow in a way that I think only the Ancient Chinese monks knew.


 In my mind, this was not a man to be messed with. Yet, when you're 13 years old hanging around in Vermont, eventually you have to start a snowball fight. I had managed to hold off the entire weekend. My Aunt and Uncle were packing the car to go home, surely sweet freedom was in my grasp (or at least the prospect of not having to rearrange my face in the car.

Pictured: Me post-snowball fight

And yet, a snowball fight started. Brendan threw with deadly accuracy, I dodged, running around the car to avoid as much as I could. Brendan seemed to have a limitless supply of snowballs (given the fact that there was snow on the ground this made sense later). I on the other hand  had managed to make one lousy snowball. I knew I only had one shot, aiming as best I could, I let fly.

And promptly missed.

So I was dead, all Bren had to do was draw back and go for the kill. But Hubris being mankind's greatest weakness, I was saved by the ultimate assist ever. Brendan laughed, said something smart, and then promptly turned around and ran into the side view mirror of a car.

Artists Conception (minus bicycle)

Now I have never seen Brendan cry. And to this day that is still true. But I have seen him run off and swear for an extended period of time. I can only imagine how painful running head on into a mirror can be. In fact, afterwards he was given some of my Uncle Mike's Vicotin to dull the pain (he slept like a tranquilized rhino). Yet, was the hit in the face more painful than the wound to his pride?

In retrospect, yes, definitely yes.

2.) My Personal Best - Aunt Mary

Now the last two stories actually come from the very same day. It was a winter walk, one that the Cummings family is known for. For those who are not a part of the Cummings family, a little background is necessary. Cummings family walks go back to he days of the old country, where much like our ancient Tinker forefathers, we wandered Ireland... Or perhaps it goes back to Grandpa Cummings walking the New York beat, meteing out street justice... put simply, the Cummings family has walked through parks, beaches, and other people's yards for the sheer enjoyment of it for going on at least 25 years. These walk are highlighted with pick up football, the occasional pantsing, and dogs getting soaked in sea water and people arguing over which car they come home in. And of course, the occasional snowball fight.

An ancient tradition

On this occasion, a gaggle of approximately 15-20 Cummings' went out to walk. Snow was melting but it was that perfect consistency for packing. The boys (and girls) started away, with the adults encouragement; particularly Aunt Mary's, who thought a snowball fight to be a grand idea.
Like all grand ideas, things started to turn ugly. Perhaps it was because the boys were throwing too hard. Perhaps it was because of the long traditon of picking on my cousin Matt had reared its ugly head. Perhaps its because Aunt Mary did not expect us to throw snowballs at her. Whatever the reason, Aunt Mary had decided that enough was enough.

Waving her arms and in a loud booming voice, Aunt Mary declared, "Enough is enough, no more snowba-"

Unfortunately, for Aunt Mary, a snowball had been heaved before she could say anything. It wasn't necessarily aimed at her, it arced high in the air and plummeted down. It hit her squarely in the chest. Mid sentence. It was the best snowball I'd ever thrown. And yet, it pales in comparison to number one on the list.

1.) ... yeah, I was aiming at her.

I previously mentioned Brendan Delaney's ability to throw a snowball, but the actual idea of being hit by one, is a far worse prospect than one can actually imagine, especially when a fight really starts. Now on the same walk where I hit my Aunt Mary, Brendan and my cousin Patrick had entered their own personal snowball duel.



Hrrm... Yes... 20 paces and then fire. Very Good


Rather than such an orderly affair, the fight was similar to combat, dodging, fighting, and death surrounding you. Patrick was no snowball slouch himself either, I'm pretty sure the minute he was born my Uncle promptly attached ice skates to his feet and a hat to his head. Winter warfare was definitely in his blood.

I think that about sums it up

Clearly the last think one would want to do is get between these two men.

Enter my 12 year old cousin Shannon.

Like a moth to a flame, Shannon ran between the two, utterly oblivious to the carnage around her aparently.

This bird had more situational awareness than Shannon that day

In all wars there is collateral damage. It's an unfortunate part of life. Running into a firefight with guns or snowballs, the result is no different, people get hurt. In one of those slow motion moments that we all remember, I saw Brendan draw back, pitch forward, and release.

Approximate speed and intensity

Shannon didn't have a chance. In fact, it was almost as if her face ran out to meet the hurtling ball of ice and pain. The snowball literally lifted her off the ground, where upon gravity then promptly delivered her to the ground with a resounding thud. Silence spread through all of us. I don't know what started first, Shannon's crying or Brendan's adamant denial of the fact that he intentionally aimed at her, but all hell broke loose.
In the end, Aunt Mary laced into Brendan to be more careful, but his alibi was pretty solid, people knew not to run in between a snowball fight.

It wasn't until a few years later at Thanksgiving that I learned the whole truth. We were reminiscing about the incident, having a chuckle, and enjoying the holidays. We remembered my hitting Aunt Mary and Brendan's hitting Shannon, and we all had a brief smile. The conversation moved on from there, with one cousin or another starting another thread. It was then that Brendan leaned over to me and in a hushed voice finally said:

"Yeah... I was aiming for her."




Do you have any memorable snowball fights? For the Cummings family, do you recollect the events differently? I'd love to hear.