It was some time in the afternoon during a late July day when my wife and I were inside playing with our 2-year-old daughter. The intense heat of the summer forced us to limit our time outside, much to her chagrin. In a moment, as is all too common in Tennessee, the sky shifted from blue to cloudy, to dark grey. It began to rain and there she was with her face pressed against our back window. Suddenly, in the near distance, we all saw a huge bolt of lightning stretch from the sky to just behind some nearby trees.
“Wut dat?” she asked. But before there was time to tell her what it was, one of the loudest booms I had ever heard banged over our heads and our house shook in response. She turned and ran away from the window with her mouth gaping open. She ran toward my wife and dove straight into her arms, terrified and crying.
I don’t know whether it was the noise itself or the unapologetic nature of the thunder that frightened her the most, but at that moment, we were called to her defense.
We held her close and assured her that she was OK, and as thunder continued to rumble outside, we tried to help make some sort of sense of it all for her. Eventually, she was able to identify the phenomena: a “Tunderstowm.”
Thunder is now one of her biggest fears. When she sees clouds in the distance, she asks if it’s a thunderstorm. If it starts raining, she wants to be held. When they come, we hold her close and assure her that she’s safe — it’s all we can do.
When I was a kid, I had many, many fears. Many have gone, but I am still deathly afraid of heights. There’s no cure for me if I’m near a ledge. I am either on the edge of a breakdown or inconsolable all together (thankfully, I don’t find myself facing extreme heights very often). Thunder was another big fear of mine growing up.
On one occasion, I was being picked up from summer camp and there was a big storm overhead. On the camp bus, somehow I became certain that I was going to be struck by lightning and so when the bus parked and we were let out, I ran as fast as I could across the wet parking lot, just like Lily, straight into my mom’s arms. She calmed me down and helped me to understand that I was safe. It’s been many years since that day, but it’s moments like those that can impact a young kid the most and lead towards growth.
So now, here in 2025 as a dad of a baby and 2-year-old, I think I’ve figured something important out: The gift of safety is one of the greatest gifts a parent can give their kids. Fears are a normal part of life, but I think helping our kids to feel safe and secure in the midst of an unpredictable world is something that helps them to face fears and challenges head on — both in the here and now and in the future.
A few months have passed since that July storm and, yes, thunder still scares my daughter. But she also knows she’s safe in our arms. No clang of lightning or boom from thunder can compare to that.
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