Winter dad jokes exist to warm the cockles of every kid’s funny bone. Or is it to give our spouses yet another reason to give us the cold shoulder? Brrr! Did anyone else just get an icy shiver down the spine?

As a service to our readers (and a disservice to their friends, co-workers and relatives), we have scoured the internet for the best/worst winter dad jokes. They are family-friendly, kid-approved, good ol’ clean jokes.

So you want silly snowman? We got them! Skier jokes? We got a few! Groan-inducing puns? You betcha!

But wait — there’s more! After you finish these, check out our Christmas dad jokes and our New Year’s dad jokes. ‘Tis the season!

Enjoy!

Best (or is it worst?) winter dad jokes

Q. What do you call a snowman who vacations in the tropics?
A. A puddle.

Q. Why are snowmen great at parties?
A. They always know how to break the ice.

Q. What do you call a winter monster with six-pack abs?
A. The Abdominal Snowman.

Q. What did the first snowman says to the second snowman?
A. “I don’t know about you, but I smell carrots.”

Q. What falls in the winter but never gets hurt?
A. Snow.

Q. What do snowmen call their offspring?
A. Chill-dren.

Q. What is the best Mexican food to have during a frigid winter?
A. A brrrrr-rito.

A gingerbread man went to the doctor’s complaining of a sore knee. The doctor asked him, “Have you tried icing it?”

Q. How does a snowman get around town?
A. By icicle.

Q. Why did the girl keep her saxophone out in the snow?
A. Because she wanted to play cool jazz.

Q. What does a snowman take when he gets sick?
A. A chill pill.

Q. What do you call a slow skier?
A. A slope-poke.

Q. How do mountains stay warm in the winter?
A. They put on their snowcaps.

Q. What did the snowman say to the dog that relieved itself on the sidewalk?
A. “Icy what you did there.”

Q. Why did the boy only wear one winter boot?
A. There was a 50% chance of snow.

Q. Where do skiers go when they’re short on cash?
A. The snow bank.

Q. What’s a snowman’s favorite condiment?
A. Chilly sauce.

Q. What do trees say when winter finally ends?
A. What a re-leaf.

Q. What sort of cakes do snowmen like?
A. Ones with lots of icing.

Did you hear about the snowman spy? He has a license to chill.

Q. What do you call an old snowman?
A. A puddle.

Q. What kind of money do snowmen prefer? 
A. Cold hard cash.

Q. How did the snowgirl break up with the snowboy?
A. She gave him the cold shoulder.

Q. What did one snowflake say to the other?
A. “You’re one of a kind.”

Q. Why is Frosty never late?
A. Because time waits for snowman.

Best winter dad jokes photo: © Soloviova Liudmyla / Adobe Stock.

I have a hate/love relationship with holiday decorating. While I often hate the cold process of retrieving the garland, tinsel and all those other items from the bowels of our family’s basement, I usually love the warm finished product: a house ready for the holidays.

This year, however, my “basement dive” was brightened by an object I came across for the first time in many years. I found a plastic black top hat like the one worn by Frosty the Snowman. In that moment, a series of memories sped through my mind like a magician’s interconnected handkerchiefs.

The hat had been part of a “build a snowman” set given to our family by a friend when my two daughters were tweens. The set included black buttons for a face and rounded sticks for arms. My youngest, Lindsay, especially loved the idea of making snowmen in our yard. That gift led to many snow families appearing in our yard during the next several winters — all punctuated by Lindsay’s sheer joy as she would pose next to them for pictures.

“This hat belongs in the Hall of Fame,” I thought to myself. That’s my phrase for a special section of my basement containing various items from my children’s early childhood — e.g., princess shoes, art projects, and crayon diaries, among others.

As I made my way across the basement, I also thought about a prized possession from when I was a tween. I grew up a baseball fanatic, and at that age I played for a team called the Falls Greenhouse Yankees. Our family vacation that year was to a place I considered sacred: the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, N.Y.

I remember enjoying all the exhibits about my baseball heroes, but my most significant memory is when my usually frugal father agreed to splurge for a souvenir. My choice? A miniature baseball bat complete with the logos for a Louisville Slugger and the Baseball Hall of Fame. It’s even made of real wood. That souvenir has been prominently placed in every home I’ve lived in since childhood. I guess you could say the bat from an actual Hall of Fame is now part of my personal Hall of Fame.

Hard to predict what will become treasured heirlooms

What I’ve learned from the black hat and mini-bat is that you never know what objects from a child’s life will become magical, memory-laden family heirlooms years later. So I always encourage parents to hang on to some “special” family objects for a while, though many will not make the final cut for a variety of reasons.

The family objects that survive, however, often become like props from famous movies that thrill collectors with their ability to conjure up full-bodied memories of individual scenes. The scenes symbolized by family heirlooms are from the home movies we play in our minds when we remember the past. In the spirit of the If You Give a Mouse a Cookie books, you might say if you give a parent an heirloom, he or she can’t resist remembering all the warm associations it evokes.

Another reason to save a few of the objects from your children’s early years is to create more opportunities for intergenerational bonding in the distant future. As we know, we live in a high-tech, highly disposable culture that has moved many childhood experiences into the virtual realm. One result has been a decrease in outdoor, low-tech, hands-on childhood activities like playing baseball and building snowmen.

The black hat and mini-bat in my basement, however, have built a bridge between the childhoods of my daughters and me. Their snowmen melted several years ago, and my baseball games ended several decades ago. But the magical remnants are still here for us to savor together.

Jerusalem’s snowstorm of the century began with a toast. My mother-in-law, Jean, was visiting us, and I had bought a bottle of her favorite local wine and a bouquet of flowers to mark the occasion.

As Jean and I partook a second glass of a delicious pinot noir, my wife, Debbie, was hit by a pint-sized rocket.

“It’s OK,” she said. “The contractions are far … ahh!”

Our unborn daughter’s hand had left a deep imprint on Debbie’s belly.

In the seconds following that monster contraction Jean moved with all the swiftness of a cheetah. She called for a taxi, packed up Debbie’s hospital bag, called her husband, e-mailed half of the Jewish population of her hometown, and watered the red cactus we had on our terrace.

Cut to Debbie and me in a fast-moving taxi, being driven by a sullen young man. “Just breathe, I said. “It took Tamar (our daughter) 26 hours to be born. Hold my hand.” Debbie and the taxi driver exchanged a glance that communicated miles: “This schmuck has no clue he’s gonna become a father before that traffic light turns red.”

The hyperventilating cabby blew into the ER entrance. “Get her a wheelchair!” he yelled. I leaped out of the taxi and returned in eight seconds flat with a wheelchair. The taxi driver floored it, racing off into the suddenly blustery night.

With the cab’s exhaust fumes still lingering in the chilly night air Debbie gave birth in her tights to our second daughter, Yarden Tilli Lotte.

Following the snowstorm birth

Elated, I walked all the way home to our four-story Jerusalem walk-up. I was sleeping the deep sleep of a happy, relieved father of a healthy newborn when my cell phone rang.

“If you don’t get me out of here now, I’ll go insane.”

It was Debbie. She was trapped in a room with an orthodox Jewish woman whose father-in-law had bellowed nonstop all day, calling everyone and his uncle, looking for a way to get his daughter-in-law, and latest grandchild transported out of the hospital back home to the city of Bnei Brak about 40 miles away. The fact that the Israeli Ministry of Transportation had announced that all roads in and out of Jerusalem were closed was little more than a detail to work around.

Now it was dusk, and this grandfather of 16 had shifted from yelling in English to whispering frantically in Yiddish about God knows what. Debbie had pleaded to be transferred to another room, but with Jerusalem about to reap the whirlwind, the entire city was in lock down, and every hospital bed taken.

I had to move, right quick. The roads were impassable, so I trudged through the snow-covered streets of our neighborhood, carrying an empty bassinet, sticking my thumb out for a lift to the hospital. The streets were empty, except for one intrepid, or seriously confused, traveler who had braved the elements, saw me, saw my bassinet, and gave me a ride all the way to the hospital.

I rushed into Debbie’s room, bundled her up, picked up our baby girl, and the three of us made tracks.

The arrival of our beautiful, round baby girl with the big brown eyes and forearms like a sailor ushered in the storm of the century. Yet Yarden Tilli Lotte’s entrance onto the world stage wasn’t completely chaotic: she was born 46 years to the day after her grandparents, my wife’s mom and dad, had created the beginnings of a storied love affair by swapping ‘I dos’ at the Highlands North Synagogue in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Sometimes, the line between chaos and creation can be blurry – but it sure is beautiful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gidon Ben-Zvi left behind Hollywood starlight for Jerusalem, where he and his wife are raising their four children to speak fluent English – with an Israeli accent. Ben-Zvi’s work has appeared in The Jerusalem Post, Times of Israel, Algemeiner, American Thinker and Jewish Journal.

Snowstorm birth photo: © v_sot / Adobe Stock.

Christmas dad jokes? Seriously?

No, funny. That’s why they call ’em jokes, folks.

C’mon. We’ve posted so many holiday dad jokes in these parts (coming up next — New Year’s dad jokes!) not to mention seasonal ones, such as these winter dad jokes that you should have been expecting these.

Thus, through the miracle of Google, we have searched for the best and worst Christmas dad jokes (and some general winter jokes, too). Consider these our gift to you. Telling these around the tree will have your family wreathing on the floor with laughter and pining for more winter holiday dad jokes. So have a happy season, all, and be sure to enjoy your elves!

Best/worst Christmas dad jokes and puns

Q. What did Santa say when Dasher and Dancer asked what the cloudy skies meant for Christmas Eve?
A. “Rain, deer.”

Q. Who gives baby sharks their presents on Christmas?
A. Santa Jaws.

Q. What do you call someone who is afraid of Santa?
A. Claus-trophobic.

Q. How does Christmas Day end?
A. With the letter Y.

Q. What kind of cars do Santa’s elves drive?
A. Toy-otas

Q. What do you call a poor Santa?
A. Saint Nickel-less.

Q. How many presents can Santa fit in an empty sack?
A. Only one. After that, it is not empty anymore.

Q. What’s the best Christmas gift for the person who has everything?
A. A burglar alarm.

Q. What’s the difference between a Christmas alphabet and the regular alphabet?
A. The Christmas alphabet has Noel.

Q. Why did the doctor warn the dad not to eat Christmas tree decorations?
A. He didn’t want him to catch tinsel-itis.

Q. What type of weather does Santa like best?
A. Snow snow snow!

Q. What kind of pizza is Santa’s favorite?
A. One that’s deep-pan, crisp and even.

Q. How much did Santa pay for his sleigh?
A. Nothing. It was on the house.

+  +  +

A couple is walking through St. Petersburg Square in Russia on Christmas Eve when they start to feel something wet fall upon their faces.

“I think it’s raining,” says the man.

“No, it’s snowing,” replies the woman.

“How about we ask this Communist officer here? He’s always right!” the man insists. “Officer Rudolph, is it raining or snowing?”

“Definitely raining,” Officer Rudolph replies before walking off.

The man turns to his wife with a smile, “See? Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear.”

+  +  +

Q. Where does Santa stay when he’s on vacation?
A. At a ho-ho-ho-tel.

Q. What do you use to clean your hands when out Christmas shopping?
A. Santa-tizer

Q. How can you tell snowmen from snowwomen?
A. Check for snowballs.

Q. What do Santa’s elves like to listen to while they work?
A. Wrap music.

Q. What did the third wise man say after the other two had already presented gold and frankincense?
A. “But wait, there’s myrrh!”

Q. Why is it always so cold during Christmas?
A. Because it is Decembrrrrrrrr.

Q. Why did the dad buy his child a refrigerator for Christmas?
A. Because he wanted to see her face light up when she opened it.

Q. Why was Santa’s helper depressed and sad?
A. He had low elf-esteem.

Q. What brand of motorcycle does Santa ride?
A. Holly Davidson.

Q. What did the first snowman say to the second snowman?
A. “I don’t know about you, but I smell carrots.”

Q. What is a snowman’s favorite breakfast food?
A. Frosted Flakes.

Q. Why is it getting harder to buy Advent calendars?
A. Because their days are numbered.

Q. Who is Santa’s male favorite singer?
A. Elf-is Presley.

Q. Who’s Santa’s favorite female pop star?
A. Beyon-sleigh

Q. What do you call a child who doesn’t believe in Santa?
A. A rebel without a Claus.

Q. How does Santa remember all the fireplaces he’s visited?
A. He keeps a log.

Q. What fabric makes the best Christmas sweaters?
A. Fleece Navidad.

Q. Why are Christmas trees so bad at knitting?
A. Because they always drop their needles.

Q. What is Santa’s favorite state?
A. Ida-ho-ho-ho

Best Christmas Dad Jokes Photo: © Sunny studio / Adobe Stock.

EDITOR’S NOTE: NYC area family-friendly skiing guide updated for Winter 2023-2024!

Family-friendly skiing, snowboarding and tubing is not as far or as difficult to get to from NYC as you may think. Several kid-friendly slopes and resorts are within a few hours by car, commuter train or even bus.

And COVID-19 — be damned! Most resorts operated throughout the 2020-21 season without issue thanks to limits on daily lift ticket sales, face mask requirements, social distancing rules and restrictions on lodge use.

So if you want to escape the urban jungle for a day or weekend, here are some of our favorite family-friendly ski resorts and spots in the New York City area.

Thunder Ridge Ski

Thunder Ridge Ski may be the easiest of all these to reach from NYC. Located in Patterson, N.Y. just off I-684, it’s only 90 minutes by car and accessible via the Metro North Hudson Line. The resort normally offers a free shuttle service from the Patterson, N.Y., train station on weekends and you can call to have them pick you up during weekdays. Check the resort’s ski shuttle page.

Thunder Ridge is good for beginners given its easy access, small size (22 trails, three chairlifts, and four magic carpets) and gentle slopes.

Mountain Creek Resort

Also just a 90-minute drive away is Mountain Creek Resort in Vernon Township, N.J. It offers two-hour lessons and rental packages at a reasonable price through its Kids Kamp. Mountain Creek offers 200 acres of trails with eight lifts along with 30 lanes of snow tubing — a perfect family activity, no skill required.

Staying overnight slope-side at The Appalachian hotel is also awesome because, regardless of the temperature, you can relax in the heated outdoor pool and hot tub. (I’ve done it — it’s pretty amazing on a cold night.)

Camelback Mountain Resort

About two hours northwest of New York City in the Poconos is Camelback Mountain Resort, regularly voted one of the best family-friendly skiing resorts in Pennsylvania. Why? In addition to 166 acres of skiing (fully covered by man-made snow if nature doesn’t help), Camelback has one of the biggest snow tubing parks — 42 lanes — in the United States, ziplining, an adventure park and a 4,500-foot-long Mountain Coaster.

The fun doesn’t stop at night. Colorful LED lights and music keep the snow tubing going after dark while skiing and snowboarding also continue.

Tired of the outdoors? You and the family can dive into the wave pool or ride of the water slides at the adjacent Aquatopia Indoor Waterpark. If you go, make sure you read our indoor waterpark tips first.

One downside — driving is the only way to get here.

Hunter Mountain Ski Resort

Hunter Mountain in the Catskills is the closest “big” mountain (3,200 feet above sea level) to NYC at less than three hours away. Given its size, Hunter has something for skiers and snowboarders of all skill levels with two terrain parks and 67 trails over 320 acres. It also boasts New York state’s largest snow tubing park with 1,000-foot-long lanes.

One-on-one or group lessons are available for kids or, if you want some adult time on the slopes, “playcare” is available for kids ages 2 to 6.

Windham Mountain Resort

A bit farther north in the Catskills is Windham Mountain Resort. Lessons are available for children as young as 3 while experienced skiers and boarders will find plenty to do on 285 acres filled with 54 trails, six terrain parks and 11 lifts.

Windham also has an Adventure Park with tubing, ice skating and — yes! — kid-sized snowmobiles (these need to be booked in advance).

Mount Snow

If you want a more traditional New England-style but still family-friendly ski resort, trek the four hours north by car or bus to Mount Snow in beautiful West Dover, Vt. With 85 trails, 19 lifts and 10 terrain parks across four mountain faces and 589 skiable acres, it’s the real deal.

You could also go snow tubing. Or get pulled by a team of Siberian huskies. Or take a ride on a sleigh pulled by Belgian draft horses.

Mount Snow also offers occasional Kids Discovery Days where children ski and learn free with a midweek lodging stay and adult lift ticket purchase.

For more on the family-friendly skiing and winter experience at Mount Snow, check out this review.

We were recently paid a visit by a winter storm that brought heavy winds, plenty of snow. And, if reports are to be believed, a strong desire in people to stock up on leafy greens like they did to survive blizzard of 2015.

Seriously, I must be watching a different news network than the rest of this city because I don’t remember kale being an essential item to survive blizzard conditions. Everyone knows you need blankets, booze and whatever crappy snack food(s) you can buy in bulk. I’ve never been in a blizzard and questioned whether I was getting enough vitamins and minerals. Unless it was vitamin A (alcohol) or vitamin C (cupcakes), then I totally worried about those.

The problem with being stuck inside during a blizzard, especially with a 4-year-old, is figuring out what to do with all that time. One of the things I suggested was building a blanket fort in our living room.

Olivia had gotten her first taste of one of these during Christmas vacation, when she visited some family friends who had built a blanket fort for their kids inside their house. I only got to see pictures, but from the sounds of it they had everything covered: multiple passageways, WiFi, working bathrooms and even a Turkish district. Aside from the part where Olivia had a run in with a rogue clothespin that wanted to mangle her finger, she got a big kick out of the experience.

Build blanket fort, watch movies

Now that we’re back in Brooklyn and stuck inside, Olivia would like a blanket fort of her very own. A cool place where she can play with her toys, escape the stress of her 8-to-2 grind and continue her class action lawsuit against the family friends whose clothespin caused her so much emotional distress. She’s asking for $2 million, but I really think she should settle out of court for a pack of M&Ms and a box of apple juice.

After scrounging around our apartment, I came up with enough building materials to get the blanket fort thing started:

• 1 queen sized bed sheet
• 1 camera tripod (as a sort of tent pole)
• 2 chairs (for side support)
• assorted blankets of various weights to ensure blanket fort authenticity
• clothespins  (to secure item #1 to items #2 and #3)
• assorted land mines, machine gun nests and barbed wire for perimeter defense
• 1 4-year-old foreman (foregirl? foreperson? forepreschooler?)

I began by attaching the sheet to our living room couch to act as an anchor. After spreading the sheet out to determine how much I had to use, I raised the tripod up to its highest setting and pinned the sheet to it. Next I positioned the chairs on the sides, attached the sheet and added some blankets. Once that was set I dug the moat, placed the land mines and positioned the machine gun nests to create an optimal kill zone in case of intruders.

Fearing that the setup might be a little intimidating, I decided to soften it up a bit by setting out flowers, essential oils and cucumber water. I wanted this fort to say, “Keep Out! (But if you manage to make it past all of the booby traps then, by all means, take a load off and relax.)”

After adding some weight to the chairs and tripod to ensure that none of them would tip over, my tiny supervisor and I stepped back to admire our handiwork. Not a bad start if I said so myself (which I did numerous times).

Olivia, on the other hand, took a few puffs of her candy cigar, ashed on the rug and said, “It could use some stuffed animals and assorted toys of my choosing for you to step on.”

So I let her drag in a bunch of her things while I searched for another sheet and some blankets to continue the fort. As I started adding on I was gently notified by my tiny tenant that she couldn’t see the TV from inside the blanket fort, and that there were shows and movies to be watched that day. So I removed the additional materials and we went from building a badass blanket fort to building a badass blanket … amphitheater. Hey, at least the acoustics would be top notch if we ever hosted a live musical performance.

Survive blizzard in homemade amphitheater

We spent the day watching movies, playing and rousing a bit of rabble. Yet every so often Olivia would say, “I want to go outside and play in the snow.” I reminded her of the blizzard and that her tauntaun would freeze in these conditions, but she just gave me a mean glance, shouted, “Then I’ll see you in hell!” and rode out the door in search of Luke Skywalker. Just kidding. I told her we’d go out the next day once the storm passed and the Imperial troops had left the area.

We survive the blizzard for another day, so the three of us put on all of our snow gear and went out to enjoy the fruits of Mother Nature’s labor. Let me preface this by saying that a year ago our child wanted nothing to do with the snow. She’d take one look at it, spit on the ground and curse it as an abomination. Just one year later, she’s a proverbial snow bunny. She was laughing, playing and having a blast … until she face-planted in a snow mound. Then she was crying, sobbing and begging us to get the snow off her face. We wiped her off, checked to make sure she was OK and then turned away so Olivia couldn’t see us snickering over what had just occurred.

The rest of our time outside was really special, because this was the first time in Olivia’s life where she was into playing in the snow. We got to teach her how to make snow angels, how to pack a proper snowball, what color of snow was ok to eat and what types of wine go well with it. It’s an incredible feeling to be there helping your child learn during those moments, because you’re helping them build a foundation that will stay with them for the rest of their lives.

Who knows, maybe someday Olivia will need to pass these skills on to her own children. Someday she may be stuck inside during a blizzard wondering how to pass the time. I hope she’ll remember these moments we shared together fondly and say, “It’s time for Mommy to show you how to build a badass blanket amphitheater.”

A version of Survive Blizzard first appeared on Our Little Mixtape.

What do the fathers of City Dads Group do when a blizzard (kinda) hits their fair metropolis? Some of our NYC Dads Group fathers explain, in words and photos, how they handled the approach, arrival and aftermath of this week’s Winter Storm Juno.

We go sledding.

“On snowy days, we either commute to school or do pick-up via sled. Here I am bringing my son home from school as Snowmageddon 2015 kicked off.” — Lance Somerfeld

We get them gear and explore

“When I looked out the window … the snow was very light so I put my son in the cushy Bugaboo and went for a walk down to the soccer field at Asphalt Green. The wind was blowing off the East River and was bitter cold so decided to head back home.” — Brandon Garcia

We catch snowflakes on our tongues

“With Sienna still being so young, it fills me with joy to just watch her catch snowflakes on her tongue. Later, we’ll go out and see what’s higher – Sienna or the snow piles.” — Lorne Jaffe

We build mountains to conquer

We build snowpeople

“We had a brief snowball fight on the sidewalk and then did some street sledding (which turned out to be great exercise for Daddy). After we met up with neighbors, we played in the snow together with their kids, and eventually built a ‘Snow Princess Jedi’ (equipped with a wand and mini light saber). Once we were frozen, we returned inside for lunch (grilled cheese). My younger daughter refused to nap and so we let the girls watch a movie. All in all, a great day!” — Ariel Chesler

We make snow angels

When it’s too cold out, we read, sing and cook with them

“Snowed in on a Tuesday. Jake’s not in the mood to go sledding. What to do? What to do?

“Wake up.

“Serve ‘His Highness’s’ breakfast. French toast with maple syrup, sprinkles, and cinnamon. Got that?

“Read children’s books.

“Color by numbers.

“Sing silly songs like ‘Goodness, Gracious, Great Balls of Snow!’ Gotta love Jerry Lee Lewis.

“Watch Peppa Pig and Tickety Tock.

“Hop on Pop. No. Not Dr. Seuss’s Hop on Pop. Jake’s actually hopping and jumping up and down on my chest right now. I think he cracked one or two of my ribs.

“Speaking of ribs … What’s for lunch?” — Jason S. Grant

All this snow that’s been relentlessly pelting us here in the New York City area has made this 39(ish)-year-old feel nostalgic.

So, parents — gather your kiddies ’round.

I wanna tell them about the New York City snow days in the winters back when I was their age. In the disco/new wave era.

Oh, it was a golden time. Golden, I tells ya! Even if in those days the Times Square snow was tinted smog gray and filled with filthy Three-Card Monte hustlers.

There was no SuperDuper HyperLocal Quintuple Doppler Radar back then. Nope, it was guesses based on the visible growth of Ed Koch’s nose hairs. That bit of “meteorology” and the hair spray fog from Studio 54 punching a hole in the ozone resulted in the adults sitting around all day, warming their hands around a mug of tepid Chock Full o’ Nuts, complaining about how the weathermen had overhyped yet another storm that never materialized.

Yes, whippersnappers, I said “men.” None of these zaftig chippies thrusting their occluded fronts all up in your face like today — no siree, Bob Newhart!

(What? Your name’s not Bob. It’s Madison? Your folks name you after the mermaid in Splash or something?)

Back then, to be a TV weather prognosticator in The Big Apple you had to be a man. A man’s man. You also had to have a goofy first name like Tex or the last name Field – sometimes both.

Snow days with a snowy TV picture

‘Course we only had seven channels back then. Moreover, the news was only allowed to be reported at meal times or right before bed. That’s how we stayed so thin back then: highly concentrated doses of calorie-burning, media-induced agita.

After the weather bogeymen frightened the bejeezus out of us all, mom would scurry us down to the Pathmark so we could purchase every last loaf of bread, carton of eggs and gallon of milk we could find.

Why? Why to make the French toast, wisenheimer! Mounds of it!

What for? Why we’d toss the French toast onto the snow- and slush-covered streets so our rear-wheel drive cars could get some traction. You youngins don’t know how lucky you are these days, what with your fancy 4×4 SUVs and your microwavable Aunt Jemima!

Broadcasters weren’t always scaring us about the snow and other natural disasters, though. Sometimes they’d magically transmit the most wholesome of entertainment like post-Somers Three’s Company and pre-McGinley Love Boat.

Huh? What do I mean by “magically transmit”?

Well, before your fiber-optic digital hoo-has arrived, we had to have these oversized potato mashers screwed onto the roof of our houses. These would transmogrify invisible electrostatic streams of Technicolor goodness into a big honkin’ cathode ray tube that was housed in a wooden crate the exact size, shape and weight of one of those Acme safes Road Runner was always dropping on Wile E. Coyote. Ah, they don’t oversaturate afternoon programming with genuine cartoon violence like that anymore, Junior. That’s why you’re so soft.

Then the cable man came to town. That was the end of it. In came the Weather Channel. The HBO. The sticking of the tin foil through the vents in the back of the box to sneak a peek of a partially descrambled Playboy Channel movie. Shocking. Literally. So I’ve heard.

All the children started staying in at night, zombified by that there were 100 channels of Tee-Vee. They were glued to the front of the tube instead of going out to do some good ol’ fashioned rabble-rousing, like looting the Crazy Eddie while hopped up on hormones and Pop Rocks.

Bah, that’s what passes for progress nowadays, I guess.

What’s that?

Oh, right. The subject was winter when I was a kid.

So for days we’d hear all this “storm of the century” jabber on the airwaves, and you know what? We’d get seven flakes of snow. Seven! Except on the Upper East Side. The hot air there would keep it down to an even four.

It’d stay so warm even the Turtle Pond in Central Park wouldn’t freeze. Not that it could anyway, what with all the chemicals from the Big Mac clamshell containers we tossed in there. But instead of thanking our lucky stars, we’d just grumble about those nincompoop forecasters who got us riled up for nothing.

Good times. Good times. Snow days be damned.

Well, looks like another 18 inches has fallen outside. Now you, kids — get off my stoop! I mean it. Unless one of you wants to dig through the snow bank for my copy this morning’s paper. Newspaper. You know, the thing all yer Internet sites steal their information from.

So, any of you want to help an old-timer out? If you do, I’ll gives ya a shiny Susan B. Anthony dollar.

A version of this first appeared on Always Home and Uncool.