The snow of 1987 has been followed by nothing but disappointment

We’ll always have 1987. Probably the best snow of all. I was nine — an age optimally suited to snow. I had shaken off the twice-daily colds of earlier years. I was a bit hardier, in peak physical condition for the enjoyment of snow.
It started on a Friday afternoon. We were like New York 80s yuppies: A little bit of white powder for the weekend. But soon it was full-on Scarface. For the whole of the next week, school was closed.