Reflections on The Snowy Day, by Ezra Jack Keats

One of my favorite books as a child was The Snowy Day, by Ezra Jack Keats. This 1962 classic follows a little boy, Peter, as he explores outside after a huge snowfall. The Snowy Day was one of the first children’s books to show a Black main character, although I was unaware of the historic nature of the book when I was a kid.  

The Snowy Day was one of my Dad’s favorite books to read to me, and I remember reading other Ezra Jack Keats books with him featuring Peter, like Whistle for Willie and Goggles. I enjoyed all three of those Keats books, and I loved the illustration style. I don’t remember my Dad and I ever talking about the fact that Peter was Black. And that was typical of both my parents—I learned empathy, kindness, and respect from them not through lessons or lectures, but simply through observing the way they treated people, the way they interacted with the world.  

Last night, I went with my family to a preview of the Minnesota Opera’s performance of The Snowy Day, and that brought back happy memories of reading that book with my Dad. Both of my parents read a lot to me when I was growing up, and I was lucky to always have a lot of books around. But The Snowy Day was on a list of books that my Dad seemed to love as much as I did. Some of his other favorites were Drummer Hoff, The Mystery at Number 7, Rue Petite, Tin Lizzy, and anything by Richard Scarry or Bill Peet. Other books might lose some of their charm through repeated readings, but Dad was always excited to read any of those favorites.  

Watching The Snowy Day last night, I was thinking more about what drew my Dad to the book. Obviously, it’s an excellent children’s book, with vivid, beautiful illustrations. But I wonder if The Snowy Day brought back memories of his own childhood. My Dad grew up in Bemidji, Minnesota, in a very different environment than Peter’s city in The Snowy Day. But what they have in common was a freedom to explore their environment. My Dad’s stories of his childhood in Bemidji featured lots of nature exploration, and very little adult supervision. When he was about 5 or 6, he and a couple of his friends set out across frozen Lake Irving to go visit his friend’s father, who worked at the woolen mills. They made it across the lake safely, blissfully ignorant of the panic they had caused their parents.  

It was delightful to watch The Snowy Day and be reminded of such happy memories of my Dad.