I grew up on a farm in rural Carroll County, Ohio. My Dad expected a lot from my brothers and I as we had chores that had to be done everyday, seven days a week, 365 days a year! There are also certain rules that had to be followed like don't leave the gate open or the cows would get out, milk the cow at a set time twice a day and never, ever leave the barn doors open! My Dad was a real stickler for the last one. Heaven forbid if you left the barn doors open because you never knew what shenanigans would go on if you forgot to close them. I was around the age of eleven or twelve one summer evening when I committed the heinous crime of leaving the barn doors open. I have told the story about what happened to me that night countless times at various family functions, work, therapy, etc. in the hopes that it would exorcise the demons that haunt me to this day. But, alas, it hasn't worked as all I hear from those I tell is their mocking laughter. Here is that story.
Thunder rumbled ominously through the hills and valleys surrounding our farm one summer night. My Dad, ever vigilant in his quest for a secure barn, must have sensed a disturbance in the force.
"Did you guys shut the barn doors?" he asked my younger brother and I.
My brother, Tom and I looked at each other as I ran a mental replay of what we were doing a couple hours before. Let's see, we were playing, fighting, doing our chores, fighting, riding our bikes, fighting, getting dark so it's time to come in and fighting. No where in there was any recollection of closing the barn doors. I also had the vague memory of being the last one in the barn which meant I was responsible for closing the sacred doors. Maybe Dad wouldn't find out, maybe the barn door fairy would rescue me, maybe…
"Jim was the last one in the barn," Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at me.
I should have known he'd toss me under the bus. Dad turned his gaze upon me, wearing disappointment on his face like a mask. Then he said five words which struck terror into my heart. "Go close the barn doors."
"B…b…but Dad," I stammered, "it's dark outside and there's a storm coming!"
"That's why you need to shut the doors, dummy!"
Now I ask you, what kind of logic is that? I looked to my Mom for help, but she seemed to be ignoring the whole situation. Wait, I had an idea! "Can Tom come with me?" I asked.
"You left the doors open, you can close them," came Dad's stern reply. Tom smirked at me behind Dad's back. "Get going before it starts raining," Dad commanded.
I got up and started walking toward our back door. This couldn't be happening. Why is this happening?
"Oh, wait a minute," Dad said.
Eternal hope welled up inside me. Finally, the man had come to his senses. So what, the barn doors are open. Big deal! It won't hurt anything. I turned around. "Yes, Father?" I said gratefully.
"Here's my flashlight, now hurry up!"
Ahhh yes, Dad's flashlight. To this day I remember it. It was what we called a lantern flashlight. It had a big round lens where the light bulb was. Then a square body which housed one of those big six volt batteries that felt like it weighed three pounds. On top of the square body was a handle and on top of the handle was the on/off button so when you held the light in your hand you could hit the button with your thumb. Dad's was red and the button on top was covered by a black rubber cover which I assumed protected the integrity of said button. So there I was, going out into the heart of a mighty thunderstorm, at night when Bigfoot is about. Oh yes, I said Bigfoot because at that time I knew Bigfoot lived around our farm. When darkness would fall, he would then take up residence in our barn, talking to the cows, picking his teeth with some hay and waiting for his chance to kill me. But at least I had Dad's flashlight.
So out I went. The barn stood about sixty yards from our house on a slight downward slope. A security light was attached to the barn directly over the doors which were wide open, as though it were a gaping mouth waiting for a meal. The two doors were about twelve feet high and had wheels at the top which sat on rails so you could slide the doors together and, presto, you had closed doors. I stood outside in the light of our kitchen window trying to work up the courage to begin my trek to the barn where Bigfoot would then maul me like a fat guy at a free buffet. The wind whipped around me and the sound of thunder was the only thing louder than the beating of my heart.
Suddenly a bolt of lightning split the night and thunder cracked as I let out a girlish yelp and began running in a circle. I don't know why I ran in a circle, maybe some primitive part of my brain short circuited, but whatever it was spurned me to action. After doing the circle two or three times, I began running toward the barn with little regard for my own safety. Halfway there the heaven's opened up and rain pelted me as I made it to the barn. I quickly grabbed one door and slid it over, then did the same with the other and jumped into the barn, leaving an eight inch gap in the doors so I could see outside.
The barn smelled of hay and grain and the sound of the rain on the metal roof was deafening. I took a moment to catch my breath and hoped the rain and lightning would slow up so I could get back to the house. Neither showed any signs of doing so. As I stood there watching the sky light up and the rain beat down, I glanced over my shoulder and saw nothing but pitch blackness. I could sense Bigfoot back there, preparing to pounce on me and tear me limb from limb! Lighting zapped and thunder crashed outside as the storm seemed to worsen. Should I stay in the barn and die at the big hairy hands of Bigfoot, or make a run for the house and get struck by lightning and become a hot cooked meal for Bigfoot? Either way I was toast. Burnt toast if I took a lightning strike!
I don't exactly remember what made me begin running for the house but I think I heard a noise behind me like a soft rustling sound and that was enough for me. I jumped outside and shut the door (yes, I remembered to shut the door all the way!) and began running for the house. I was repeating a mantra over and over in my head as I ran. I believe it was, "Please don't get struck by lightning, please don't get struck by lightning, please don't get struck by lightning, please don't get….." well, you get the picture.
The house stood like a beacon of hope, the windows alight with a soft welcoming glow that seemed to say, "Jim, come inside where you'll be safe from hairy wild men and untamed electricity."
I ran hard and fast, fear and adrenalin pushing me toward the house. I think I'm going to make it. I'm almost there!
Then it happened as quickly as you can say, "Holy Benjamin Franklin, Batman!" I was struck by lightning. There was a bright flash of light as simultaneously I was hit in the forehead. The force of the blow put me flat on my back. I screamed in agony, my hands flying to my forehead as millions of volts of electricity coursed through my body. I writhed on the wet ground as my skin blackened and my blood began to boil. Oh the burning, the agony, the…..wait a minute!? There's no burning or agony. I wasn't even in any pain except for a light stinging sensation on my forehead. No blood boiling or skin blackening. What's going on?
I sat up and saw Dad's flashlight on the ground beside me. Up to this point I'd forgotten I had it in my hand. I hadn't even turned it on. But now it was on the ground beside me and it was on, the light spread out across the wet grass like a shiny carpet. I rubbed my forehead. What just happened here? I looked up above me and saw something that brought everything into perspective.
You will have to use your imagination a little, but I pieced together what made me think I got struck by lightning. When I left the barn I had Dad's flashlight in my right hand. When a person runs, their arms are pumping up and down. Now, imagine running with a flashlight in your right hand and as your arms pump up and down, (feel free to try this at home) like mine were, when your right hand reaches the apex of it's upper pump, where is the flashlight pointing? Right in your face! I Must have had my thumb on the on/off switch of the flashlight and as my right arm came up I reflexively pressed the button, thus turning the light on as it was pointing right in my face. That explains the bright flash of light.
Now what are the odds that when the light comes on in my face, that would be the exact moment I run into my Mom's clothe line with my forehead? During a lightning storm? By someone terrified of getting struck by lightning? One in a billion, I'd say!
So there you have it. The sordid tale of a young boy traumatized by what amounts to artificial sunlight and an outdoor clothe dryer. Despite the odds being astronomical, it happened and people get a big belly laugh at my expense. Yes it made me look silly, but no more so than you sitting at home reading this and pumping your arms back and fourth like you were running with a flashlight!
|
