Our friends painted-wood-porch was our shelter from the storm. Most storms came from the west, and we could see them approaching from our porch. Our front porch was cement and had wrought iron railings, so it was a no-brainer; safety was across the street. The old wood porch was painted gray, and it was on an angle just enough to allow water to roll off like little waterfalls. We would wait for the flash of light and block our ears, but we felt the thunder in our bones. Between the flash of light and the rumble we counted Mississippi's, trying to guess how far away the lighting was; of course, when it crashes beside you, there's no need to tell time: Time stands still when you're shitting your pants. We watched many summer storms from that porch. But eventually, all storms end. We waited for clear skies, so we could play in the puddles. A rainbow's promise was God's way of saying “Okay boys make a splash” and we did.
Camp
fun and games
Some storms took us by surprise. The surprise I am
remembering is a storm that happened to wake us from our sleep. I had an orange
two-man tent which was used by four boys. It was just big enough for board
games, a two-liter bottle of pop and big bag of cheese balls. The night
was filled with fun and games. We finally tired ourselves out but there was one
game left to play. My friend's favorite game. He was always the last one
to sleep for one reason; to wake us up and tell us to go back to sleep. There
were a few sounds beyond the orange walls. A couple ferocious felines battle
for dominance -or was that forced romance. I wasn't peeking out to find out.
The trees above swayed and creaked. The only light left was that of a
fading flashlight that was propped up with a smelly Converse running
shoe. The illuminated ceiling was our hand puppet movie screen. It is no
surprise that my hand puppets are the hit of the show. I don't want to boast
but I will. I had four: a horse, a dog, a bunny and some old mob guy with a big
knuckle nose. That's right see!
The
calm before the storm
There was an eerie calmness that night. A calmness
that seemed to precede most storms. The rain fell and little rivers began to
seep through the seams. But we were still lost on our dreams. Cheese balls were
floating. The nudie magazine someone snuck in was a soggy mess of bleeding ink.
Then it happened God and mother nature decided to give us a wake all call.
Suddenly a huge crashing light hit the maple tree beside us. The ground erupted
and trembled. Four kids ran to escape the rath God. Why was God made at me. I
only peeked. It wasn't my magazine. Home was just a short run, and we all made
it in safely, but the tent wasn’t as lucky.
In the morning we gathered the remains of what was
once a good tent. The backyard looked like a crime scene. Inside beyond the
caution tape, all you could see was a floating two-liter bottle of RC cola,
cheese ball soup soaking wet sleeping bags. Luckily, the only evidence we had
to hide was a soggy nude magazine. Everything that could be salvaged hung on
the line; everything else was buried in a green garbage bag. The rolled-up
weapon of sin, the magazine at the bottom.
I’ll never forget that storm and -luckily for me- I
would experience many more storms in the future and even more camping mishaps
not in backyards but at campsites all over Ontario. That painted porch was a
magical place. My second mother -my friends’ mom- treated me like I was one of
her own. There’s nothing like watching a storm, drinking milk and eating
homemade cookies under the shelter of an old painted porch.
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