Millie LaFontaine lives in Concord.

When winter is near, what child doesn’t long for a snow day? You know, that out-of-the-blue gift of snow when you haven’t done your homework or you are supposed to be ready for a quiz? Instead, you can create a joyful ruckus inside the house, and outside as well.

When I was a child, as now, snow days were a wonderful gift for schoolchildren, if not for their parents. My mother often told a story when I was growing up about a neighbor of ours who tried to make the best of a snow day.

Families in my neighborhood, including this neighbor’s, were large. But regardless of family size, a mother needed to hit the ground running and stay vigilant all day long when her children were home unexpectedly. This particular neighbor was enjoying a late-morning cup of coffee one snow day, savoring what must have seemed like a few blissful stolen moments of solitude.

Suddenly she realized it was eerily quiet. She tiptoed into the family room, only to see that her children were silent because they were engrossed in cutting off the bottoms of her prized curtains. Without a word, she tiptoed back into the kitchen and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

I think of this as I think back to November 2020. For more than half the American electorate, there was an exhilarating sense of relief in those first days. We had just emerged from four years of chaos and months of white-knuckle anxiety before that first Tuesday in November. We felt we could use a few minutes to relax and breathe. We smiled and sat down for our late-morning coffee.

Our then former president was holed up in the White House seething over his defeat. We should have known that something devious was afoot.

Back in my day, children were just that, children. We all know that children, when left to their own devices, can get into some sort of innocent trouble. But we Americans should have known that our former president was no innocent child. He had proven himself time and again to be an unruly bully who craved, and usually got, his own way. The guardrails were few. He was willing to lie, cheat, brainwash, and trample his way to retaining power. He was doing exactly that in that quiet interlude.

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I confess that I used the last four years to tiptoe back into the kitchen to enjoy a second cup of coffee, hoping (actually believing) that the madness of the previous four years was an aberration, never to be repeated. I thought I wouldn’t always have to be the adult in the room, and even if I did, my children would listen, and we could all laugh about it afterward.

But here we are. Our bully is ever more cunning and vindictive and devious. We can do all the soul-searching and finger-pointing that we wish, but the fact is that he’s back in our house, and he is up to no good. The guardrails are off. He’s inviting his minions into our house to do his bidding.

The only thing coming out of his mouth that we should actually believe is that this time he’s sure of getting his own way. We’re dreaming if we think he’s going to let us close our eyes and breathe.

He’s about to prove that cutting up our prized curtains is mere child’s play compared to what he has in store. Once he’s turned us into an anti-immigrant police state, his blundering on the world stage will jeopardize the peace we hope for and the prosperity we somehow think is our birthright.

And think of it. With his policies on climate, he’ll do his best to rid us of snow days altogether. Should we resign ourselves to the fact that democracy is more fleeting than the fragrant aroma of a second cup of coffee?

I’m holding my breath, but tiptoeing back into a quiet place is not an option.