As a kid, I was terrified of tornadoes. Storms didn’t bother me too much, but tornadoes really messed me up. I could really whip myself into a dither thinking about one coming after me.

Actually, I think my problem was the thought of seeing all my beloved Matchbox cars and other toys swirling above the treetops. I used to plan my escape, which I eventually thought was pretty foolproof.  

First, I’d grab all my stuff, throw it in the middle of my bed, grab the bedspread up like a knapsack, and head for cover.  At age 7 or 8, I thought that was pretty smart thinking.

I don’t think I had ever seen a tornado warning on the television screen, but one afternoon the sky was bright and sunny. My parents were around the house, and I think my mom might have even been reading the newspaper on the patio out back, seemingly without a care in the world.

As I raced around the house and in and out the back door to warn my family of impending doom, none of them seemed overly concerned. I mean, didn’t the weatherman say that a warning meant “seek shelter” immediately? 

I went ahead and hastily gathered a few things and sat terrified in the middle of my bed to wait for the end of the world.

A little thunder, heavy rain, almost no wind. A funnel cloud was spotted over a farm field at the southern tip of our county, hence the warning.

I was lucky to be alive.

Now, I know tornadoes are no laughing matter at all. I had seen movies in science class and even watched footage on the news. But somewhere along the line, and most likely as I grew older and more knowledgeable, my terror turned into curiosity, which in turn evolved into fascination.

Now, I think I’d be a storm chaser. Someone said I should do such a thing when I retire from teaching in a few weeks.

I doubt anyone would invite me to chase with them, but it might be fun.

I’m not really sure why storms are so exciting. I love watching thunderstorms roll in. I remember being a little kid and sitting in the carport with my grandpa as we watched a spot shower seem to drive down the road toward our house. It looked as though a cartoon cloud was coming straight down the road, only dropping rain on the hot summer pavement as the sky around the cloud was blue and sunny.  

Of course, this meant there would be a rainbow.  I’m sure grandma put down her dish towel for that and came outside to see.

When I was in school and later, when I became a teacher, it was fun to practice during the tornado drills – early on as a dutiful student filing out of the classroom and crouching in the hallway, then as a teacher, directing my students into the hall with precision and all seriousness.  

Always thinking I’d keep my cool, I was tested as a young teacher.

I was out on afternoon playground duty with another teacher when the wind became sort of still and strange.  The sky was a golden and sort of greenish color. Both of us thought things didn’t look good, but no teacher in their right mind would shorten recess for even the threat of being blown out of Kansas.  

When those giant and slow drops of rain began to blow, we tooted our whistles and rounded up the herds of children. It wasn’t too dramatic at first. We came in in plenty of time to get drinks, head to the restroom, and settle into our seats as the rain began to pour.

Our principal, a smart man, walked down the hallways and talked to small groups of teachers as he motioned for us to step outside our classroom doors.  We were told of the warning that had been issued, and we all glanced outside our windows and saw that the sky still looked ominous.  

However, we would tell the kiddos that it was just a practice drill.

How dense did we think they were?

It wasn’t calm. Kids were crying. Known for my booming voice, I raised it several times and think I even yelled out “Shut your mouths! We need to be able to hear directions!” 

I’m sure my silly hollering didn’t do anything to calm the fears of the kids, but I eventually calmed myself down and reassured them. By the time the threat was over, I had regained my composure and was saying things like “We will be just fine,” and so forth.

We talked about things after the storm blew through, and even followed up a day later. Kids were anxious to talk about how they felt, and I took that opportunity to get out pencils and paper. 

Because as you know, any teacher is going to find a good reason to have you write an essay.  

“How I Survived the Twister of ‘95”

 Or something like that.