last home in Wheaton, Indiana Street, coincided with
my first memory of a thunderstorm. My father must have
been away, for it was my visiting grandfather who gently
tugged on my ankles and drew me out from under the bed.
He bundled me into something warm, took me out to the
front porch, and sat me on his lap.
when two big clouds can't see in the night and bang into
other--and say OW!"
I quickly realized
that Grandpa wasn't afraid; that he actually enjoyed
the fury and flash of light. To this day I enjoy a good
storm, and not one blows in but I think of fondly of him.