A Walk on the Wild Side

As a child I was terrified by thunderstorms.  I became hysterical if awakened in the night by a storm.  I was certain that the lightening was aimed directly at my body, and that the thunder would certainly cause our house to come tumbling down.  I had visions of drowning, bursting into flame and being crushed by tumbling bricks and mortar.  My mother, of course had tried to console me.  She had tried to convince me that there was little danger, and that the likelihood of our home being struck by lightening was very remote.

I was not convinced.   My hysteria continued.  Each time there was a storm at night, the entire household  went without sleep because of my outrageous behavior.  I screamed, I cried, I trembled.  Finally, my mother had enough.  There was a violent thunderstorm one spring night, and I was at my worst.  "Come here, Maxie", my mother said.  I went to her, tears streaming down my face, screaming uncontrollably.  She took my hand and lead me to the door.  She pulled me out into the pounding rain, as I  resisted.  She persisted.  We were dressed in our pajamas, with no umbrellas or protection of any kind.  I was convinced that this was the danger of all dangers, and that we would surely never return to the safety of our home.

She held my hand tightly, and we walked.  We walked to the end of the block and back again.  The rain pounded on us; the lightening flashed and the thunder clapped and raged.   She kept talking to me.

"See,"  she said, "It doesn't hurt.  We are all right. The storm is all around us, but it is not hurting us at all."  We kept walking.  Up and  down the street.  To the corner, and back.  I could see our house, still standing, unharmed.  The rain poured, and we were drenched to the bone.  She kept talking, her soothing voice giving me reassurance.  We kept walking.  Eventually, my crying subsided as I realized that none of the awful things I had imagined and feared had happened.  I was chilled and wet, but had not disintegrated.  I had not been burnt up nor buried.  I was only wet.  We continued to walk, for what seemed like hours.  Finally, my mother asked me if I felt safe.  I suddenly realized that I did.

We went back into the house and Mother quickly got me into dry pajamas.  As we sat at the kitchen table drinking  welcome hot chocolate, I told my mother that I would never be afraid of a thunderstorm again.  "They are really just wet,"  I recall saying to her.

     When a thunderstorm occurs in the night now, I just turn over and snuggle a little deeper under the covers.  And I remember that wild walk,  more than sixty years ago.  And  I thank my mother for being so shrewd, sensitive and caring.