WARM memories on a COLD and snowy night in NYC…

I grew up on the edge of a pond far north of NYC.  I could skate before I could walk.  Every winter we would eagerly await the results of my Dad's is-it-thick-enough-to-be-safe? test of the ice.  He would walk gingerly out a few hundred feet to the middle of the pond, pause pensively, then jump up and down with reckless abandon on the ice.  My brother and I would stare wide-eyed in fear and anticipation and admiration of such disregard for his own safety.
 
Years later, I was bragging about this to my friends over beers, with my Dad present.  "You crazy son of a bitch" I told him.  He broke into laughter and said "Did you guys REALLY think I would go out there and do that if I didn't already know it was two feet thick?"