It Snowed in Hell

Living in Houston as a child, it was always hot.
I was comfortable with that. Loved it.

One of the earliest memories I have—one of the good memories, one of the happy memories—was the year it snowed there.

It was glorious.
The first time I had ever [seen snow](seen snow).

I think my sister had just been born.

My maternal grandfather—we called him Boompa—took me outside to play in it,
in front of their mansion in Walkwood.

We built a small snowman.
It sat on the trunk of his car—his black Cadillac Fleetwood with black leather interior.
He had a Trans Am with an eagle on the hood, a truck, and a Porsche 944 as well.
I never knew why he needed so many cars,
but they all had car phones, and he would take me driving in them.

I slammed my finger in the truck door, I remember.
It made my finger turn purple for a day or two, and it really hurt.

I recall my mother being so upset at me.
How could I be so careless? she kept asking me.