This morning the weather was hot and muggy. After preschool we went to play outside in the kiddie pool and the sandbox. Big Bro and Lil Sis played happily and I did some gardening. But soon it turned into a super stormy afternoon. The kids hid under the porch while I quickly gathered up their toys and we went inside to dry off.
I distracted them from the storms by reading books on the couch and making a fort under the dining room table. Pepper panted and stayed close to us.
Then I remembered: one night when I was small my sisters and I woke up in the night because of a very close and very loud thunderstorm. I remember fearing the big pine tree out my window would break or fall right into my room (it didn't, and it still stands even today). We were all scared and it was pitch black night. My dad took us down into the basement, an unfinished basement lined with a coal bin and full of tools. But a central feature was the old ping-pong table. I remember playing ping-pong safely in the basement that night as the thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed. With our heads below ground level, and hanging out with my dad, I felt safe. When the storm passed he tucked us back into our beds and we went to sleep.
So, just like my dad had done decades ago, I took my own kids down into the basement. Our basement is also unfinished. Instead of tools, it's lined with random junk that I dream about clearing out, though we have some tools too. In one cleaned out corner we have an air hockey table. So that's where we went. We played air hockey until the storms passed with the whir of the table's electronic music and fans drowning out the rumbles of thunder and cracks of lightning.
It made me feel close to my dad. It felt a bit like time travel to a past lifetime or a visit to a parallel universe. A fun and meaningful tradition for stormy days.
