Thunderstorms remind me of my Dad


I just dashed home with Princess after going to Baskin Robbins for some ice cream because the pitter patter of rain was beginning to fall.  While thunderstorms makes most people grumble under their breath, I love them.  They remind me of my dad.  Not because of his booming voice, or his large presence, but as a child, whenever it would storm, my dad would go out into our screened in porch and watch it.

I don’t know what he enjoyed so much about them, but he very rarely missed one.  My mother was terrified of them, especially after her, myself and sisters were home alone during a tornado that ripped our roof off.  I was no more than 13 when it happened.  I was in 4H and was in my room getting changed to go to the farm.   My mother was shouting up the stairs telling me she didn’t think I should go.  I wasn’t even down the stairs before she was grabbing us and dragging us into the basement.  Before we went down, I looked out our front window to see the branches of the spruce tree in our front yard pointing up to the sky and the sky green as green could be.  My mother was shaking, but remained rather calm considering.  It didn’t last long but it did sound like a freight train was going through our home.  We waited  a few minutes after the sound was gone before venturing upstairs.  The tornado had passed and we went outside to see the damage.  The ladder from our pool was thrown across the yard, the boat in the next field and all of our toys scattered all over the place.  However, the damage seemed minimal.  It wasn’t until my uncles came over to show us what they could see from their homes.  They took us outside and pointed to the roof of our backroom.  The tornado had taken the tin roof, chimney and all, and rolled it like a sardine can exposing the beams.

My dad wasn’t fearful like my mom though.  He would sit in the porch at the picnic table and just sit in complete darkness and quiet and watch.  I would often sit out there with him and I don’t ever remember seeing him at such peace the way he was when he watched the storms.  The lightning would flash, the thunder roared and the rain pounded the roof and blew through the screen, but he did not move.  His grey eyes would just watch.  His calloused hands were folded on the table top.  He watched the storms and I watched him.  It always blew my mind how he was so calm and peaceful.  And he was like this every time it stormed.  And every time the clouds and sky darken, the rain falls and the lightning and thunder crack, I remember my dad.  I still watch the storms with the same wonder I had when watching my dad.


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