I hope you get your snow: I didn't, but got something more

Roberta

I was sitting here on my couch the other night, and could hear my neighbor Dee faintly thru the wall behind me.  She's 70 years old, has an adult daughter and a 9-10 year old granddaughter.  Her granddaughter was telling Dee about her dad taking them to Seven Springs after Christmas.

For those who don't know, Seven Springs is a very popular ski resort approximately 60 miles east of Pittsburgh.

When they were saying goodbye in the hallway, Dee said "Goodbye honey.  I hope you get your snow."  I sat here thinking "Where have I heard that before?"  I knew someone said that to me once, who?  I went back to my book, then later that night after climbing into bed--pow.  I remembered.  

A long time ago in December 1973, I was 12 years old and in seventh grade at Jefferson Morgan Jr-Sr High School.  It was the last day of school before our holiday break, and we only had a half day.  

We were sitting in our homerooms waiting for the buses to arrive, and our 7th grade History (and homeroom) teacher Mr. Wettie Mancuso asked if anyone had any plans for the holidays.  I can't remember if the other kids shared anything, but I said my Grandma was coming to spend the night at our house Christmas Eve, and I was praying really hard for a blizzard so she'd be forced to stay a day or two longer like she did a couple years before.  

(We lived in an old farmhouse on a country road--back then, snow plows were hit or miss.  It could be a couple days before you saw one.)

Mr. Mancuso said "Who hopes Doug gets a blizzard?" and several kids hands shot up, and it was enormously gratifying.  In retrospect, I think every kid just wanted snow for Christmas.

Mr. Mancuso

Mr. Mancuso asked if anyone else wanted to share, and Roberta McCarty, a girl who sat one seat up from me in the next row said "I have a tumor in my head and they want to operate the week after Christmas."

The classroom got very quiet.  Mr. Mancuso said "Aw honey, that's too bad.  Who wants to pray for Berta?"  Everyone's hand went up, and I suddenly felt embarrassed and guilty for my prayer for a blizzard to snare Grandma.

I'll never forget this.  Roberta said "It doesn't matter if you pray.  I probably won't survive."  Mr. Mancuso said "Don't say that, you're going to be here a long time.  You'll see."

(Mr. Mancuso would retire the following year, and pass on 4 years later.)

The buses began pulling into the breezeway outside our windows and the final bell rang.  As we began filing out of the classroom, kids were saying goodbye to one another and to Roberta.  When I said goodbye to her I said good luck and hoped she'd have a nice Christmas.  Roberta said "You too, I hope you get your snow."

We didn't get any snow that Christmas, but a 3 day icy drizzle instead.  The local weatherman kept joking if it turned a couple degrees colder, we'd be knee-high in the white stuff.  Torture for a kid to hear.  But Grandma stayed with us an extra day anyway, and for me that was all the Christmas I really wanted.

Roberta didn't return to school after the holiday break.  I don't know when her operation took place but she passed in February, a couple months shy of her 13th birthday.  I often wondered if anyone in our class even remembered her, until our senior year when someone drew her likeness above for a Memorial page in our senior yearbook.

But I've thought about her off and on through the years, and how sad and grownup she seemed at that tender age of 12.  And of course, her very unselfish wish for me.  Roberta, I'll never forget you.