It’s raining again. That reminds me of a rain story from YEARS ago. Like 25 years ago.

My dad picked me up and we headed to Lake Kissimmee to go fishing. All was well until it started raining POURING. A real toad-floater. Like a four-bladdered cow peeing on a flat rock. And we got lost. It was like we were on the USS Minnow or something. Rain was coming down in sheets, lightning was popping, and it was even hailing. I was huddled behind my dad, shivering, afraid. The rain finally slacked off to a downpour, and we found a houseboat. The people inside gave me a garbage bag pancho and pointed us toward the ramp.

Know what I remember most from that day? I never got the impression that my dad was afraid. It never crossed my mind. I knew all along that dad would get us home safely. But now having kids of my own, I know he must have been scared to death. He just didn’t let it show.

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