I have a real fear of tornadoes, and am always apprehensive when tornado season comes around. I have had two connections with tornadoes in my life, and they both had a great influence on me.

     I remember a summer night in the '60s when I was probably around 14 or 15. We lived on Lake Whitney in rural Central Texas, and although it had been storming in our area, it was now quiet except for the lightning flashes off in the distance accompanied by rumbling thunder. Mama had been outside examining the horizon for potential threatening weather, even though Daddy assured her our area was safe for the rest of the night. My own safe reverie was shattered by her excited voice from outside beckoning us to come see the funnel cloud. Daddy called back that all was safe, it was only a "figment of her imagination," a phrase I had heard before, both of me and my mother.

     Daddy stayed inside, but I cautiously went to see for myself. It was so dark and eeriely calm, and it was impossible to see anything unless a bolt of lightning happened to light up the horizon. "There, did you see it? It's crossing the lake," Mama asked me several times, but it was always too late, as the sky had already grown dark again. I wanted to believe her; it really wasn't like Mama to imagine such things, and certainly not to arouse my own fears, but in this case I had to side with Daddy. There just wasn't any evidence to conclude that a funnel actually suspended from the sky. I, too, began teasing my mother about the "figment of her imagination." I was fearful that there might just be truth in her observation, so I was eager to dismiss its validity if I could. But Mama was not to be swayed from her stand.

     "You can't always assume something isn't there just because your eyes don't see it," she tried to reason with me. "We have to examine all the evidence, yes," she said, "but always consider the possibility of things being not as they really appear to be." She was so confident that the next day would give light to her claim of the funnel sighting, and she cautioned us to continue to be alert for other stormy weather the rest of the evening.

     The next morning Mama and I drove into Whitney, the little town 7 miles away by road but closer as the crow flies across the lake. We would do laundry together, and then I would be treated to my usual dessert at the little ice cream parlor, either by myself or in the company of friends I might hopefully find there, while she bought groceries next door. As we approached the outskirts of town, we began to see things were not as they should be in a small rural town that had seen little change in as long as I could remember.

     We never did make it into the downtown area where our errands would usually take us. Roads were blocked off, and debris seemed to be everywhere. It was probably a week before we were able to get to downtown Whitney, only to find it really wasn't there anymore. The tornado, the "figment of her imagination," had cut a devastating path through most of the city, demolishing everything along the way. It was at least a year before Whitney returned to some degree of normalcy, businesses and homes slowly being rebuilt; but the laundrymat and my favorite little ice cream parlor were never to return. Now we would have to drive 16 miles to do laundry, instead of the short 7 mile drive, and I would no longer enjoy my time alone or with friends while Mama shopped. In a way, I felt some of the delight of my youth was lost forever that night.

     We could not have changed the events of that evening nor done anything to prevent the tornado from causing the destruction it did, but I have often thought of the valuable lesson I learned from my mother that night, a lesson in perception and decisions. We cannot always trust our intellect to rationalize the reality of circumstances. We need to be open to other options that may not appear on the surface to be there, but that are in fact possibilities. In other words, don't shut down options that aren't readily apparent. Relationships, opportunities, and circumstances may not always be as they seem. I have had many wonderful things happen to me during my lifetime, and some only because I remembered my mother's good advice and remained open to my own "figments of the imagination."

Maggie
© 1998


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