Day #5 Tell a story from your childhood.

Childhood stories. I have a LOT of those!

Probably one of the most vivid memories I have was when a tornado blew through my childhood town.

 I was around 8 years old, and we were living in a one level, three bedroom house--complete with a quaint living room and a minuscule kitchen. It was tiny and cozy, but the complete opposite of anything that could be considered safe during a major storm. We didn’t have a basement, or a cellar, and the town we currently lived in was at the tip of Illinois, right at the edge of  tornado alley.  Mere hours before it hit town, my family of six was sleeping soundly in our beds. I never really understood what was happening when I was awakened by a loud knocking on our door, the sound of  anxious voices, the whistle of the wind tearing through the trees, and the frantic running of my parents feet through the house. Moments later, me and my sister’s bedroom door was flung open, the light switch was turned on hastily, and my dad's voice broke through the silence of sleep.  

"Get dressed--HURRY--and don't forget to put on socks!" He said.

Me and my sister shot out of our beds like lightning. Faith jumped off the top bunk,  the loud thump of her feet hitting the floor making me flinch, and stared at me, her eyes like dinner plates, "What's happening?!" I looked back at her and shrugged. 

We tore through our room, throwing our PJ's to the floor and yanking jeans and long sleeve shirts on our bodies. We didn't put on socks. We grabbed our blankets and pillows and ripped through the hallway to the living room where our younger sister Lydia was lazily lounging on the couch, half-asleep, and oblivious to everything going on around her. 

The next few seconds were a chaotic blur. My parents appeared out of their bedroom, my mom carrying my youngest sister, only a baby, in a carrier. My dad's face was wrinkled with worry, his arms full of other supplies and paraphernalia. 

 My mom swiftly handed me my youngest sister, Vanessa,  and took Faith and I by the arms, pulling us towards the door. With a yank, the door flew open, smacking the wall with a loud clap like thunder, and we raced to the van, the wind ripping our hair and clothes back.

 We were in the van in seconds, and my mom left us in, then raced back to the house to help my dad carry Lydia and the other supplies we brought. 

I looked out the window. The trees were dancing terribly, their leaves shaking almost with fear. Leaves, litter, and hay were flying through the air. The sky was dark, stained black as embers, and looming over us like a massive monster.

 The next few seconds, again, were a blur. My parents suddenly sprinted out the front door, and were in the van. Before I comprehended it, we were driving. "Where are we going?" I asked. My dad replied back gruffly, "The church. There's a basement there we'll be safe in." So we sped across town like a speeding train, rain beating at the windshield like mad. 

When we got to the church, we filed out of the van as fast as was possible, our arms full of our things and our hearts racing, stomachs tight like knives. The few pain staking seconds it took for my dad to put the key in the lock, drop it, then stuff it back in again to unlock the door was torturous. I remember screaming out in fear, only to be hushed by my mother. Nothing sounded as sweet to me as the woosh of the glass church door being opened, and the soft rush of safety that greeted us.

  Once we were in, sweet relief flooded through us like streams. We ran to one of the basement rooms and made camp there, throwing our blankets on the floor, cuddling up, trying to keep the jitters at bay. I remember my dad pulling out a storm radio. He let it drone in the background as my mom got me and my other sisters singing, to distract us from the storm. My parents unwrapped baby Vanessa from her baby bundle and let her crawl around. I remember how much that comforted me. Here was a baby, completely oblivious to danger, who simply enjoyed being with her family, having no idea of the stress that we had all suffered from.  

What would have happened if our neighbor hadn’t warned us about the storm? If the storm actually had blown through our town and not around it (which was what we discovered had happened the next morning) , would we have survived? 

I don't really remember if I fell asleep that night. All I remember is the sound of our voices, singing softly, and the beautiful sunlight that was there to greet us in the morning.