S is for your snowman, the most hideously unattractive creature in history. It came no higher than my waist, fell over as you tried to put the eyes on and involved far too much mud to be truly classed as a snowman but for your first attempt, I thought it very admirable.
When you first told me you'd never done such things, I have to admit I was shocked. I hated doing it but it was a past time my sisters insisted on. I had always thought that every child made snowman at Christmas so it never occurred to me to ask why you always studied the creations with such joy as we walked through the frosty park. And how on earth did you know that I knew how to create one? You just turned to me and instructed me to teach you as if it were the most normal thing in the world! I, in my youth and affection for you thought nothing of ruining my brand new gloves for a quick demonstration but then, after seeing the joy light up your little face, shrouded as it was in furs, I couldn't stop myself from continuing to help you even if you were determined to do it on your own.
S is for the snow man you built with so much enthusiasm you changed my thoughts on the subject for a great many years.