Twist(er) and Shout

As a parent my job, first and foremost, is to keep my children safe.

This is no easy feat. When our children are babies we lash down car seats and nestle them in beds with crib bumpers. When they are toddlers we install child locks and safety gates. As they grow we insist they ride their bikes on the sidewalk and wear their helmets. We admonish them when they run with a lollipop in their mouths or a stick in their hands.

We do our best right up until the moment they leave us at which point we cross our fingers, say a prayer and hope that all our lessons will be heeded as they climb the kindergarten bus, drive off with license in hand for the first time or enter their college dorm room.

Still, despite our best efforts, as parents we can only do so much.

I still vividly remember the horror of September 11, 2001. I had a 3 year old and a 6 month old. That day my children climbed the jungle gym and dug in the sandbox at a local playground, blissfully unaware of the hate and destruction that was occurring a few hundred miles away. As I watched them play, a sick feeling formed in the pit of my stomach, growing stronger with each passing moment: the realization that no matter what I do, I can never fully protect my children.

This feeling was reinforced last week when my son and 191 other students and chaperones from the middle school band and chorus went on a field trip to Six Flags in Agawam. The trip is an annual event, and my son had been chattering about it excitedly for months. Being a nervous mother, I was worried about his safety on several levels; rides designed to toss his body around at high speed; the park’s proximity to a city known for its crime; a cold which had caused his asthma to flare up.

Still, I knew that part of my motherly duty was to let him go and trust that he would do everything in his power to keep himself safe. He had his inhaler and the chaperones would keep an eye on everyone throughout the day. All the bases were covered.

What I didn’t plan on, however, was a tornado.

The forecast for the day was hot and humid, with the chance of severe thunderstorms in the afternoon. I hoped that perhaps the bad weather would skirt the area around Six Flags or turn foul sometime after they left the park. As the wind picked up in my area, a mother of another child on the trip texted me a copy of a weather alert she had received on her phone: “A tornado watch has been issued for most of Massachusetts”.

I knew the difference between a “watch” and a “warning”; a watch means severe weather is possible while a warning means that severe weather has been observed, or is expected soon. Though the idea of even a possible tornado made me uneasy, it seemed highly unlikely and so I tried to tamp down my fears.

Shortly before the kids were due to leave the park, another mom called and asked if I was watching the weather reports. She said that a severe thunderstorm was 20 miles west of Six Flags and moving fast. The tornado watch had been upgraded to a warning. I called my son, who had just gotten off a ride, and told him to start heading toward the busses. I felt like that scene in the film “The Perfect Storm” where the female boat captain tries to warn George Clooney by screaming, “You’re heading right into the mouth of the beast.”

Over the next hour I divided my time by trying to reach my son on his cell phone, texting and calling other moms with information, and praying. One friend said she received a text from her daughter saying a tornado was going by and the bus was shaking. She didn’t know if her daughter was joking or not. I somehow managed to miss a call from my son, who left the following message: “Mom, you will not believe this. I have literally just seen a tornado form next to the bus and it’s cutting a path of destruction across the road”. Another mother called to tell me that one of the teachers was phoning the same information in to the local news.

Thankfully, the middle school busses were spared and quickly left the area, heading home. According to a friend who chaperoned the trip, the drivers were in constant contact with their superiors who instructed them on which route to take to avoid the worst of the weather. Still, as I listened to reports of additional tornadoes, lightning and hail, I continued my prayers until my son walked safely in the front door.

My son, unaware of the true devastation of the storms, thought the trip was an adventure. He was more intimidated by some of the roller coasters than the tornado that swooped by his bus. It wasn’t until the next morning when news stations reported the extent of the damage and the lives lost that he was truly able to process just how close a call it had been for them.

And for me, this experience served as yet another reminder that, despite my best efforts, I cannot always keep my children safe. Thankfully, the bus drivers, chaperones and God were able to fill in for me on this one.