It's no secret that I hate thunder and lightning.
When I was a kid, lightning struck the fence surrounding the
giant propane tank that we used to heat our pool and then it took out a giant,
and I mean GIANT, tree. The lightning
strike missed the propane tank by less than a foot. We would've been toast. Then a week later, lightning struck our house
while we were in it, damn near striking my sister who was about twelve feet
from the edge of the roof where it hit.
Less than a week after that, lightning took down a birch tree at the end
of our circular driveway.
This afternoon after coming home from school, I parked my
car so it blocked my son's car in, figuring I would move it before he had to
leave for work. I was watching the radar
like a maniac because I knew storms were coming. I suggested that we move cars right away, but
son insisted on waiting fifteen minutes until he was actually ready to leave.
Bad decision, at least from my perspective.
The storm moved in, and I refused to leave the safety of the
house, which usually translates into the safety of the bathroom, which is
relatively unsafe due to all the metal piping, but don't tell me that because I
simply do not want to hear it. I figure
in the bathroom I have no window, white noise from the fan, all the water I can
drink, and plenty of toilet paper should I shit myself when the house starts
shaking.
So I did the unthinkable: I tossed my keys to my son and
told him to move my car.
No one has ever driven my car but me. No one.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, and there was no way I
was going out there. Of course, the
strange thing about my phobia is that I enjoy driving my car straight into a
storm with my radio on full tilt.
Sometimes I'll go sit in a restaurant or coffee shop, order something to
snack on, and watch the show from the windows.
I do not, however, like being in a house, a school, or outside (been
caught several times outside during storms -- didn't care for it, thank you,
anyway).
Son was a good kid about it, though, and acted as if he
genuinely enjoyed the little trip around the block with my Dodge before tooling
to Beverly in his Mitsubishi. He didn't
whine or throw a tantrum about having to do it, either. I think he knew deep down that it was a
battle unworthy of waging; I wasn't caving.
Totally not happening.
It was a relatively quick wall of storms. Two came through almost on top of one
another, and it was all done in less than ninety minutes. I went outside, moved my seat back to the
normal position (son is over six-feet tall, and I am barely five-two), and re-parked
by backing my car into the driveway for the bleary-eyed morning getaway.
It's no secret that I love my kids, and I'd do just about
anything for them, including moving my car so one can get to work on time. But it's no secret that I hate thunder and
lightning, too, so I guess we all have to pick our skirmishes. This time Mother Nature beat me.
Thanks for rescuing me from having to crap my drawers,
Kiddo. I owe ya one.
