Write about something that scared you as a child.
This is ironically appropriate tonight, given that a thunderstorm has just rolled into Norman.
As a child, I was terrified of lightening and thunder. I grew up in Tucson, and my mid-August birthday was during "monsoon season." It stormed
a lot during that time of year. Lightening often streaked earthward in crazy displays of light, and was almost always followed by loud
cracks! of thunder. I could never decide whether I hated the thunder more, because it was loud and sudden, or the lightening more, because it always preceded the crashes of thunder.
I hid under my bed, trembling, on occasion during the storms. I could sit, absolutely paralyzed by fear, in our darkened living room for hours at a time. When the thunder came in the middle of the night, I could find no voice to call my mother, but remained scrunched up under my sheets waiting for the cacophony to pass. And I remember making my mother nuts with my anxieties (oh dear! what goes around certainly comes around!).
How interesting that I can recall my Grandma Scarbrough, my mother's mother, and all the attempts she made to lessen my fear. My small son, Caleb, lays on the couch asleep as I write. He couldn't bring himself to sleep in his own bed when the wind began to blow. My mother, Pat, and my dear friend, Lorna, also a grandmother, spent last week trying to convince Caleb of all the reasons he need not be afraid of storms. Granted, living in Tornado Alley, instead of the Sonoran Desert, gives rise to even more fear than mere thunder and lightening. I suppose a tornado is indeed a scary thing. At 8, the same age as Caleb, I was scared silly of the little dust devils we got in Arizona, small swirling cyclones of dust and dirt, and especially petrifying to me when they picked up thorny tumbleweeds. As I think about it, those dust devils were akin to tiny tornadoes. No wonder my little son is so scared!
However, I can suddenly recall with clarity that it was my own grandmother, and not my mother, who tried most to convince me of the very same things. And all to no avail! Describing thunder as the angels moving their furniture was a cute idea, but didn't soothe my fears. Neither did counting the seconds between lightening strikes and the thunder's boom. I wasn't afraid of the damage the lightening could do; I was afraid of the unpredictable and resonating boom. Maybe it would have been more helpful for me to know how many seconds to count before the boom came?
Over time, and in minute increments, I simply outgrew my fear. Or, rather, I coped with it better.
Thunder and lightening here in Norman, Oklahoma, are a little different. Usually, the thunder rolls, true to Garth Brooks. The lightening rolls, too. It seems far less likely for you to see lightening strike straight downward. Usually what I see is the lightening reflecting in rippling patches across the clouds in the sky as a front presses forward. I love that. It's gorgeous. And I love the soul-satisfying rumbling of the thunder.
But.... We still get big cracks of thunder from time to time. And if I'm in bed with my husband, I curl up as close to him as I can, and I squeeze my eyes shut, and I cover my ears.
I guess I haven't really outgrown it after all.
(l-r) Elisabeth, Hannah, Andrea, Tyler
