I heard the stupidest thing EVER today on the nightly news. The weatherman said, “At least the East Coasters have one less hour of this storm due to Daylight Savings Time.”
No, Dumb Ass, the storm will still rage on for as long as it would have without Daylight Savings Time.
I am positive the storm doesn’t own a Rolex. I also don’t think the storm can tell time.
I hate storms.
My biggest fear is being swept away like Dorothy by a tornado. I am pretty sure that this is how I am supposed to die (unless some crazy ex-employee whacks me).
Death by tornado.
My mom is also very scared of tornados. I know this because of one of my very few childhood memories.
When I was about ten, a huge shipping company moved into the airport in my town. It was big business for a small Ohio town. Suddenly every other family in town had a dad or a brother working here. And they shipped out on these huge planes.
Our old farmhouse house was about 10 miles from the airport. We lived out in the country surrounded by cornfields. Bear with me. You will need to know this fact soon enough.
One night I was sleeping away in my bed.
And then, something really crazy happened. I remember it like it was yesterday (mostly because it was one of the scariest moments of my life).
I awoke to the house shaking and rattling. It was a sound that I had never heard before. I was groggy but I knew, from all that I had learned, that a tornado was outside and heading towards our house.
Just to be sure, I ran through the mental checklist very quickly in my mind before I began panic mode.
- Sounds like a freight train? Check.
- Was there going to be warm air mixing with cold air? Check.
- Were there watches before I went to bed? CHECK!
I jumped out of bed and ran to my mom & dad’s room. I don’t even think my feet hit the floor.
My mom was asleep and not waking up. My dad was asleep and not waking up. So I yelled, “TOOOOOOORRNADOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” As loud as I could right in my mom’s face.
My heart was racing. I had never been so scared in my life.
My mom awoke to my scream and sprang up in bed. The house continued to shake and the freight train sound grew louder.
My mom immediately started running for the stairs screaming, “GET TO THE ROOT CELLAR!”
This is the part where I explain to you that my mom is from West By God Virginia and calling your kind-of-like-a-basement a root cellar must be normal in those parts. You should also know that Wikipedia calls a root cellar a structure that is partially underground. Our half basement was only partially underground, so maybe root cellar was the right word.
You should also know that my brothers and I had been trained at a very young age that you should go under the stairs in the root cellar if there was ever a tornado.
My mom was yelling “GET TO THE ROOT CELLAR!”
Not wanting to die at the age of ten, I ran with her to the stairs. I stood at the top of the stairs and I reminded her that we should get Dad and my brothers.
This is what my mom said…
Oh my Gosh!
We are going to die!
The tornado is so close we don’t even have time to wake up the guys.
My mom is going to let them all die!
This is bad.
Then she grabbed my pajamas and yanked me so hard that she tore my sleeve.
I had no choice but to follow her down the stairs.
“TOOOOOORRRNNAAAADOOOOOOO!!!! DAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!! BOOOOOOOOYS! TOOOOORRNNAAADOOOOOO!!!”
At this point my dad came out of their room and said…
“What the hell is wrong with you two?!? It’s a goddamn AIRPLANE! Go back to bed before you wake up the neighbors.”
And in that moment of silence, I realized that the noise and shaking had stopped. It was just an airplane. A really big airplane from the new shipping company at the airport. We just weren’t used to that sound in the middle of the night.
I also realized that I was my mother’s favorite.
That’s right, Brothers! Mom was going to let you die! Who was the mistake now? Not me. You.
Now isn’t that just a kick in the balls?