Thunderstorms

Today we had the first real thunderstorm of the season, and I got caught in part of it. 

When I think of thunderstorms, I think of being a six-year-old, sitting on the front stoop with my dad watching the storms roll through.  We'd try to guess where the next bolt of lightning was coming from; we'd count the seconds until the thunder to track how far away the lightning was... mostly we'd just sit and watch it rain.  We'd sit together.  Sometimes my sisters were there.  Sometimes my mom would yell at us to come inside, scolding my dad for putting us in danger.

But there wasn't any real danger.  I know the odds are pretty slim to be struck by lightning, and it's not like we were holding golf clubs above our heads in a field.  That house had already been struck by one tornado, and they say that tornadoes never touch down in the same place twice.  It was a covered porch, so hail wasn't a problem.  It was just rain.  And bonding time.

Dad and I wouldn't ever talk about much, and these storms were no different, but we always had a connection.  These evenings on the porch were a chance to connect. 

I was out grocery shopping tonight when the storm hit bad, when the skies opened up like a reservoir breaking free.  I made the decision to run from my car to the building like I needed a second shower today.  But I probably did.  Storms like this roll in to wash away our sins, to rush away the grass clippings, to test the wax on the car.  They are refreshing.  Rejuvenating.  Revitalizing.  There is a magic that comes with a torrential rain, makes you feel alive.

I bought pasta, shrimp, some frozen bread knots, all while dripping.  All while letting the cleanse soak in.  The storm let up as I was leaving.  When I got home, my wife told me how she and Grayson sat on our front porch watching the storm roll in...