Thunderstruck

Big thunderstorms today, which means my son A.J. spent half the day walking around the house with his hands over his ears. I can’t blame him. Weather makes me anxious, too.

The other half of the day he spent whaling on a new inflatable Sponge Bob punching bag. He punched it. He kicked it. He sat on it and pummeled it. He laughed the whole time and kept asking me to come watch him.

Then the thunder would return and his hands would go back over his ears.

Fear and anxiety punctuated by episodes of explosive aggression. He is an American male.

What really bothered him was having to leave the house with my wife for a 20-minute drive to the next town over.

“I don’t think we should go in the car,” he said, as thunder rattled our windows.

“Why not?”

“Because metal conducts electricity.”

“We’ll be fine,” my wife said. “The rubber wheels will take care of that.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He flipped his hood up and ran out into the downpour to get into to the car.