A proud moment

There were a lot of unique experiences for me last week as I attended the Presbyterian Youth Triennium at Purdue University in Indiana. Having been born and grown up in California, the idea of Midwestern weather — specifically summer humidity and thunderstorms — was more of a concept than something I could actually wrap my mind around.

Turns out that was a problem. The first day we arrived, I knew I was in for a different experience when it began pouring as we made our way to the hotel. Of course, even though it was pouring, it was still in the 80s with about 80 percent humidity. In other words, not the ideal climate for a boy from Central California.

Things only got weirder from there. It rained at some point every day we were in Indiana. I, of course, packed nothing but shorts, T-shirts, and polo shirts. I was prepared for heat — nothing could have prepared me for the daily storms or the humidity.

I think Midwestern humidity is something that defies description. People tried to tell me what it would be like, but that really can't paint the picture. It was an odd feeling to get up, get dressed, walk outside and be soaked through your shirt in 90 seconds. I was in Indiana for six days and probably showered 14 times. Needless to say I have been thrilled at the breeze and lack of humidity this week back in Paso Robles.

Another thing I was ill prepared for was the speed at which storms gather. On Friday night, after Graham finished his sermon, we stepped outside to begin the 10-minute walk to our hotel. It was with satisfaction we exited the Hall of Music, however the first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. Then I noticed that leaders were ushering kids in doors at a rapid rate. Then I saw why.

As I wheeled around, I saw a bank of black clouds looming on the horizon. Naturally I knew that meant a storm was coming... eventually. Graham and I looked at the clouds and I stopped to take a cell phone picture — after all when do California kids see something like that. But then I realized that people were giving us grim stares. I also noticed that those clouds seemed closer than they appeared.

Living here, we're just not used to the rapid onset of tornado-generating storms. As I watched the clouds coming closer at warp speed, I began to get a bit of an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Having never experienced anything like that, I was concerned. Hearing adults screaming at kids to get into any open building right now didn't really help. This, however, didn't phase Graham.

I tried to exhort him to move quickly, but he was watching the clouds moving along at a steady pace. Finally, the voice within began shouting and, in a moment of great pride I took off running for our hotel, leaving Graham behind. At the time it seemed justified, but in retrospect it probably wasn't my finest moment.

He soon arrived at the building and we made our way up to our rooms. As I flipped on the TV and saw the map for tornado warnings centered over the Purdue campus, panic began to set in again. I decided to call home and let my parents know I was still alive — a call I made while huddled in my bath tub. Again, not my finest moment.

Of course we didn't get hit with a tornado, but since my only previous experience with tornados was gained through yearly viewings of "Twister," I was somewhat glad I hadn't taken any chances. I guess there are some things we just can't get used to until we've experienced them. I always used to chuckle at newbies that lost their head at the first 2.5 rumbler we felt. Having grown up in California and lived through the San Simeon Earthquake, I remain relatively calm when the ground starts shaking. But not when I saw dark clouds moving in my general direction. It's all a matter of perspective, I guess.