Sunday Scribbling on Monday

The evening games had been called for the night. The darkness was not the reason. There were plenty of good games you could play in the dark. Kick the can, hide and seek. They were almost better at night. Really, the best time was dusk. It was light enough to see the best hiding spots, but the gray-blue evening sky would help to hide you from the searcher’s eyes. One of my favorite hiding places worked best when it was dusk. It was one of my old stand-bys, the one I used when I really didn’t want to get caught. The loose hedge of bushy-bushes between the Mitchell’s and the house next door to them offered the perfect hiding place; the perfect size for my wiry 7-year old body. Through the loose branches covered thick with leaves, I could disappear from sight but still see the goings on of the game. I had to be careful though – if you used the good hiding places too often, the bigger kids would find out about them and take them over. I always waited until the other kids had all gone to the man-hole cover in the culdesac to come out of that spot. A good hiding spot in our neighborhood was like gold and I was going to protect mine as long as I could.

Tonight we had been playing kickball in the early evening. Choosing teams and marking the bases with scraps of cardboard. Later in the evening the parents joined the playful games. Mr. Kelley rolled out the volleyball posts secured in truck tires filled with cement and tied the net at each side. The adults began a rousing game of volleyball while the kids sat on sidewalks drinking cokes and eating popsicles to reject the effects of the heavy, humid evening air. We became cheerleaders – hollering and hooting at the saves and spikes that our parents showed off. It was so much fun, I looked up to the night sky to find a star. I wanted to throw up a wish that every night could be like this.

Looking up, there were no stars in the sky. Instead, dark clouds filled with heat and moisture decided to answer me instead. Low rumbles began to fill the air and as the parents paused the game for a water break, flashes of lightning danced in the distance. The magical spell was broken and quickly, the parents moved out of “play” mode and into “protect”. The net was quickly taken down and the volleyball posts returned to Mr. Kelly’s garage. A few more quick words between kids and parents as the rumbling grew louder and impatient and zig-zags of light were seen in the sky. Kids were whisked inside and the games for the night were over. I begged my dad to watch the storm with me. Together we sat in the garage with the door open and the lights off, watching the fierce mid-west summer storm make its way through our tiny suburb. Pounding rain, thunder and cracks of lightning were so loud, glass bottles in our garage were shaking. But I wasn’t afraid. I thought the storm was so beautiful – powerful – incredible. As a child, I couldn’t fully understand the danger, but I could grasp the power. It was as if God was giving us a fireworks display of nature to end our party.

The storm passed, and I eventually went to bed, but I never forgot that night. The incredible joy of the impromptu neighborhood party and the unexpected storm that changed our plans – that picture has played out in many ways throughout my life. Both times have so much to teach us - I wouldn’t want to give up either.