Everyone I know thinks of rain as a bad thing. There are clichés about it "rain on one's parade." There are pop culture references "It Can't Rain All the Time." When it rains people constantly comment on how dreary and depressing the rain is. My co-workers cringe as the clouds get darker. I love rain.
When I was growing up in Pennsylvania rain storms were a thing of beauty. I can remember turning out all the lights and sitting with my friends on the hall stairway that faced the front door, popcorn in hand, enjoying the natural light show flicker and dance across the darkened sky.
In my teenage years I remember lying on my bed, listening to the thunder with its mighty booms, or the soft rhythm of the rain drops like a familiar friend on a chilly autumn afternoon. I would watch as the trickles traced intricate patterns on the glass. When the power went out I would play card games with my sister and my mom by candlelight.
When I moved to Texas the rain lost its romance for me for a short time. My "Native Texan" husband warned me about tornados and what to listen for and to watch for. He taught me to go into the bathroom and hide in the tub. I would lie awake at night, my ears straining for the first sounds of sirens. If I watched the rain out the window I was looking for funnel clouds. I could not laugh and have fun when the lights went dark.
Gradually my fears left me, and again I learned to marvel in the beauty of a storm. I read poetry by candlelight and listen to the whispering raindrops. Someday I will sit on a porch somewhere with my children and "Oooh!" and "Aaah!" as the lightning dances in the clouds. And they will not be afraid.