Lilapsophobia
Written by Katherine Trauger

My fear started when my mom was little.

My mom was the youngest of six much older children.

Life was hard because of the Great Depression and her daddy had died
after surgery when she was only six.

Imagine the feeling of events spinning totally out of your hands while
you watch: no daddy, nothing to do, shooed away during the bustle of
family life. . . .

My mom had exactly two jobs around the house when she was little.

One job was very important, and quite doable, which gave her some
sense of existence: opening the poison-ivy-covered gate when the
family traveled with the car. She was not allergic to it. Ever. So as
a small child, she braved the dangerous vine.

Her other job was to watch for tornadoes while the men were in the
fields and to run, screaming, to them if one was coming.

What were her brothers thinking? Was it funny to scare a much younger,
perhaps bothersome, sister?

Whatever it was, the combination of feeling helpless/useless, and of
not knowing what kind of bogey she was looking for when she watched
for tornadoes, produced in my mom an irrational fear of them that she
passed on to me, by osmosis.

It did not help that during my formative years we lived near Kansas
City, directly in “tornado alley”, as much of the Midwest is called.

And by irrational fear, I mean things like scurrying and gathering
everything you own, safe-guarding it under tables if the weather was
“murky”. I mean, as a young child, I knew how to ID “tornado weather”
by glancing at the sky. I mean, I learned Central Missouri geography
at age eight, by listening to weather reports all night long, on a
small transistor radio in the basement.

Oh, yes, there was the basement.

But before that, there was the Big One.

Back in the mid-fifties, an enormous tornado hit a suburb of Kansas
City, called “Ruskin Heights”. Many died. Amazing, heart-wrenching
stories survive to this day, in a sort of fraternity of the vortex, or
something, with its own Website and a beautiful, tree-lined memorial
to the dead on the High School campus, where the tornado had blown
away so many signs of life.

We owe our lives to a Mr. Audsley, a radio announcer who broke the
rules, risking his job, that night, by announcing the approach of the
massive funnel, giving those who happened to be listening, a chance to
take cover.

Much has changed since then, such as tornado sirens in most towns, new
guidelines for announcers allowing weather warnings, and most homes in
that area have basements or storm cellars.

Like the one my parents built, soon after the Big One.

But tornadoes are still about the same.

And my fear was about the same—as my mother’s.

And I knew if I wasn’t careful I’d pass it down to my kids, and I did
not want that.

So I prayed and tried not to tremble. I tried hard to be casual. I
made a few strict tornado rules, but kept them so routine, I wondered
if my kids would ever actually take cover if I ever actually told them
they must.

Or if they’d only yawn and look at me with that look.

But I was secretly still scared stiff. Panicky. Eyes darting and
checking that sky when the kids weren’t looking. Strictly enforcing my
rules for safety when they were.

Until one night, when I had a disturbing dream. I was in a tornado in
my dream and my children were separated from me. I tried all night to
find them in the dark and rain and dangerous winds, but not until it
was over did they appear, safe in a very unsafe place, in the trunk of
a car that was all bashed in. Weird.

Then there was another dream another night and my kids were safe
again, in another crazy-dangerous place.

And again.

Third time’s a charm; I got the message God was sending me. He says He
talks to us in our dreams and I was hearing Him unmistakably: YOUR
KIDS ARE SAFE.

These days I no longer have that fear. These days, I’m the go-to girl
for tornadoes, housing the fearful and their children in my own home,
reassuring, promising safety I’m not exactly sure of, but at the same
time, of which I am very sure.

I even went through hurricane Katrina, when we lived in Mississippi
for two years, with hardly a tremor of soul, although tornadoes span
all around me all night and hubs was out of town.

Unscathed, I was, then, and am, now.

Still have all those rules, though.

I wish I had personal shots of a tornado, but I’m not THAT brave, yet! 🙂

Katharine is a retired, 25-year, home educator of six children,
amateur herbalist, and magazine writer, taking a break to develop a
web presence and write books. She and her forester/pastor husband live
beautiful Delight, Arakansas. She enjoys gardening, cooking, canning,
reading, and old movies with popcorn.