It’s a real winter–at least that’s what all my neighbors are saying. It’s not a real winter unless local people say it is. They know. And I’ll take that one step further: it’s not a real winter unless someone who was a child in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s says it is. We grew up in the Ice Age of Western New York, after all.

Not only did we grow up in it, we walked to school in it, we were forced outside on Saturdays by our parents to go play in it. We took our road tests in snow storms, delivered newspapers by climbing six-foot snow banks, and walked two miles in blizzards to visit our friends. We were thirteen. It was worth the peril.

We were much heartier back then. Imagine telling a ten year old today to get his ski pants on and get outside to play in the snow. “And don’t come back until we tell you to.”

These stories aren’t myths that we tell our kids to feel like a more solid and superior generation.

Winter was winter back then—snow from November to May. Snowbanks still melted at Easter. Historic blizzards.

And those winters molded us and shaped our character. I had to walk a mile to school every day of my life for three years. No one drove me. No one cared if it was ten degrees outside. And no one worried about me when I set off early every morning. This was life. Life was hard. It took true effort to get through it. No one got pampered or excused from the toils of living. You were expected to brave the elements like everyone else without complaint.

My father waited at the bus stop at the top of our street in a big black hat with mufflers on it. Even for the times, he looked ridiculous. But like most families, we had one car, and part of his fatherly duty was to wait for the bus to get to work.

No one ever felt sorry for him.

I took my road test to get my driver’s license in a very bad storm in 1978. What’s so interesting about that is the fact that very few things got cancelled back then. When I showed up to take my test, the instructor was waiting for me on the sidewalk looking like the abominable snowman. I could barely see the road in front of me as we drove along, but by God, I was getting my license that day and a little blizzard wasn’t going to stop me. He let my brother ride with us in the backseat because the weather was so horrible, but first he gave him a strong lecture about signaling me in any way when I looked in the rear view mirror.

Adults were adults back then, too. There was no mincing of words. No one was worried about our feelings.

A brave, hearty winter pays no mind to our sensibilities. It’s cold and snowy everyday. It requires a lot of old fashioned effort on our part: to shovel and blow snow. To climb snowbanks when taking out the garbage. To suit up to run to the store. You need boots and hats and mittens and long underwear. You need to be grizzly and resilient and purposeful. There’s salting the sidewalks and warming up the car and two different kinds of shovels.

I think humans need this kind of winter every so often. It reminds us that we are tough and can rise to difficult occasions when we need to. It makes us pay attention, and asks us to be present in the moment and in our daily lives.

I remember, several years ago, watching four kids across the street play in their front yard for an entire afternoon. They made little hills out of snow to slide down and dug tunnels in the snowbanks. They were bundled up in their hats and mittens and snowsuits, oblivious to the cold and having the time of their lives.

It was a wonderful thing to see. Behind the door somewhere was their parents who had told them to put down their phones or their video consoles and go out and seize the beautiful, snowy day.

It took me back a few years. If my father had walked by in this muffler hat, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all.