Every Time I Hear the Thunder I Remember My Dad

By [http://ezinearticles.com/?expert=Hemalatha_Gangadharan]Hemalatha Gangadharan
My dad was an idealist; he wanted to give life to his idea of an ideal school. His head high up in the clouds he never bothered about the mundane necessities of starting a school. He got a piece of land in the back of beyond. Dad took us to see the land he had bought. It was wonderful like a virgin untouched land - for miles around there was absolutely nothing, no trees, not even a thatched hut in sight.
We built the school. A classroom became our house. We filled it with lots of love and happiness and made it a home. It was like having a house in the middle of a playfield. Small children are not bothered by lack of grocery shops or there being not even a medical shop nearby. Walking to the nearest bus stop in the blistering heat became a new game for us.
One eventful night, after the scorching heat, mercifully the skies opened up and poured its blessings on us. Rain fell in torrents as if the heavens had opened itself to welcome us to the dry deserted land. Literally it was a desert, the plants refused to grow in the arid region.
That night it rained with the thunder and lightning crashing across the skies. The power lines went down.
Our family- dad, mom, my younger brother and me along with the watchman stood huddled in the center of the classroom we called home. In the center was a tiny candle burning itself out to light up the place and our dog sitting next to it shivering with fear. Water was seeping in through the windows and from under the door. There was iron all around us. The door, the windows, the cots and even our cupboards. We were scared to touch any thing. How could we tell where the lightning would strike?
Outside the room all the construction equipment were kept - all made of iron. Two huge doors and many windows were leaning on the wall just outside our house. The lightning swooped across the equipment and sparks flew out. The whole place was bright as if a thousand lights were switched on at once. The lights went off and the sound took its place. The thunder rumbled across the sky, softly, coming closer slowly towards us. The volume increased to its crescendo blasting its way across the heavens. The windows rattled, we jumped in fright; our dog in the center wailed its fear. The thunder moved further away till it finally was not audible. Silence reigned for a minute - all of us shaken up by the sheer rhythm and timing of the dance of the two across the dark expanse.
Every time there's rain with thunder and lightning, I remember the magnificent, thrilling experience we had that night. The fear of the sound and fury or the awe of spectacle, I don't know what moved us that night.
Years passed, we grew along with the school. Only dad and I were there. My brother was in college and my mom in our native. The dog had long gone along with our watchman. Dad and I were alone in the room that made our home.
In the middle of the night, it poured and the lights blazed across the skies. The clouds thundered their collisions. The windows of the room rocked in the fury. I got up suddenly; the whole room was alight in the light of the lightning and the sound of the thunder vibrated across my nerves.
I pulled my bed sheet and went across to my dad's bed and cuddled next to him feeling warm and safe.
Now every time there's rain with thunder, I think of my dad, want to go across to him and cuddle up.
But he's in his seat on the clouds choreographing the dance of the sound and light, watching all the drama below.
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