This article 1st appeared in Sixty and Me
Recently a violent summer storm swept through the Atlanta-area community where we live near our grandchildren. My seven-year-old grandson Owen, who only a few weeks before had finally become comfortable with July 4th holiday fireworks, rushed from his bed to his parents’ room.
Earlier in the evening, there had been reports of expected high winds or even tornadoes. As the thunder pealed and the lightning flashed, the possibility of a tornado seemed paramount in Owen’s mind. For the next 15 minutes or so, he besieged his Dad with questions. “What’s a tornado again, Daddy?” “What do we do if a tornado does come? Do we hide in the basement?”
Finally, after receiving patiently delivered answers and a series of hugs, Owen fell asleep again.