I grew up in Florida. I loved my childhood years, and not just because I lived three miles from the Gulf of Mexico. Rather, I loved my childhood because it was quite a normal childhood. I went to school and mostly hated it. I had a ton of friends that I loved to play with for hours and hours on end. My family was great and we made it to the beach as often as we could make time for it. My life seemed perfect, and I was quite sure that it would stay that way. I went to college in Florida and just assumed that I’d always live there. Life has a way of giving us reality checks however. I searched for jobs and found one in Minneapolis, Minneasota. I moved there ignorantly and quickly learned the value of a shovel.
I’ll be honest. The only shovel I had encountered prior to my move to Minneapolis was a small one that my siblings and I used to make sandle castles on the beach. It had snowed a few times during my growing up years, but never enough to warrant the use of a shovel. So my transition to Minneapolis went smoothly until October hit and the snow began falling. It began falling and didn’t stop falling until nearly April. I was warned by a new friend to...
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