One of my earliest childhood memories that I can recall was a thunderstorm, or maybe several, in Macomb, IL. We lived in a big house with a front porch large enough for multiple rocking chairs, and it was covered by an overhang such that you could sit and watch a storm go by. In retrospect it sounds very peaceful but at the time I was about 2 or 3 years old and terrified of thunder.Ã‚Â¬Ã¢â‚¬Â My parents and our neighbours were out on the porch watching the storm and I remember being torn between being safe from the thunderstorm in the house, but alone, and being outside with the thunderstorm but being with my parents. I'd have to ask my mom to be sure but I think I remember running between the house and the porch every time there was a lightning strike.
It's funny thinking about it now, since my usual reaction to thunderstorms nowadays is to want to be out in them. I always like having a window open so I can hear them. The window next to me right now is cracked just enough so that my living room is filled with the storm's sounds.
Sometimes I lament that I'm no longer scared of thunderstorms, because now that I'm all grown up I have grownup things to be scared of, like economic meltdowns, nuclear war, and the icecapades. Sigh, loss of innocence, and all that. Stay dry, space cadets.