T O D A Y

Drama Queen candidates
Bad trips

Contestant No. 1
Contestant No. 2
Contestant No. 3

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R E C E N T L Y

Censorship and sensibility
By Inda Schaenen
Should kids be able to read anything they want?
(07/17/98)

Slice of life
By Maurine Shores
Memories of a cake that tasted like summer
(07/16/98)

A counterculture childhood
By Lisa Michaels
In an excerpt from her new book, the author remembers being 3 years old and waving a Viet Cong flag
(07/15/98)

Beach babble on
By Polly Shulman
A selection of books immerses kids in a wetter, wavier world
(07/14/98)

A masterful Machiavellian matriarch
By Lesley Gold
For 24 years Rep. Pat Schroeder cleaned two houses
(07/13/98)

ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

Family trip enlightningment
By Rebecca Davis

For years, I have vacationed at the shore with my best friend and her family. I got to play with her kids, and I was an extra adult to help out with grown-up responsibilities. One year, we decided to forego our usual trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and spend a week in Ocean City, Md., instead. That year it was just Mary and me and her four children. The oldest was about 8.

One evening we planned to go on a ranger-led nature walk through one of the shore parks, which would end at the beach with a bonfire. When we left our cottage for the 45-minute drive south, we did see one lone thunderhead down in that direction, but it was otherwise sunny and clear so we ignored it. The kids were jabbering in the back seat, and all was happy.

Closer to the park, we began to hit heavy rain -- or rather it began to hit us. We kept going, (I was driving) because those evening thunderstorms come and go quickly, and because that's the kind of person I like to think I am. Intrepid. But then it got dark. Very dark. And the distant lightning got closer. By now we were leaving the main road and had to choose whether or not to take the winding park road toward the beach. Why not, we're safe in a car, right?

Off we went. The park road seemed endless. The sky was black. The rain was on us hard. We were riding through a thicket of bayberry bushes that were probably 10-feet tall, so we couldn't see much in any direction. In the back, the kids were silent, except for occasional questions like, "What if we get hit by lightning?" I told them, "We're safe in the car because of the rubber tires" while looking at their mother for confirmation.

I was driving so slow we were at a crawl. There was nowhere to turn around, and I was scared of getting stuck in the sand. Just then, while approaching a bend in the road, lightning struck the sand just ahead of us. Maybe 15 feet in front of us. It was a palpable being, as big around as my leg, and it pulsed and throbbed during its agonizing entry into the ground. Red molten globs fountained out from the ground like lava bubbles exploding, reaching as high as the surrounding bushes. For a few seconds, the lightning lit the car with a dazzling white light, leaving its jagged image in my eyes.

I don't believe I stopped driving. I was going very slowly and I think I was frozen in that position. We sat in silence when we rolled past the spot, and when we realized we were perfectly fine, we all started to exclaim about it. The kids were exhilarated. So was I. Everyone had seen the whole thing -- the melted sand globs exploding upward, the size of the bolt.

We continued on. We were in the epicenter of the storm. It continued to pour rain, to thunder continuously, all against the cast of a black sky. We kept rolling. Then, another strike. Just behind us. I think I was the only one who saw it, to catch it in the rear-view mirror. Everyone else only saw the same dazzling white light illuminate the car. I saw the shadows of the kids' heads on the dashboard, and the shadow of the car ahead of me on the pavement.

We lapsed into silence and I gripped the wheel, just trying to get out of the damn bushes and onto the open shore. At least there we could see farther than 15 or 20 feet. Finally we emerged at the entrance to the park service's parking lot. We were somewhat relieved to be out of the confining thicket, but there were all types of electric poles surrounding the lot. I didn't know whether to stay where I was or head back into the dunes.

There was a park ranger there, in his car, beside the information booth. No one else. I pulled up beside him to put the responsibility into someone else's capable hands. I cracked the window and shouted over the sounds of the storm, "Where should we go? What should we do?" No answer. No movement. He sat behind the wheel of his car, not three feet away, gripping the wheel and staring straight ahead. I had never seen terror like that in another person, and hope never to see it again.

Since he was parked right under a light pole, which, if struck, I now knew, would crack like a twig and crush us, I moved the car into the middle of the empty parking lot. Already, the storm seemed to be weaker, moving out toward the ocean. There were terrific lightning bolts over the water.

A few moments later, the storm was past us. It settled down to a heavy but quieter rain. When we left, the ranger was still in his car by the pole. I think it was sunny, still, back at the cottage. Another soft, muggy sunset over the sound.

Is there a moral? Nope, unless it is to be a little less intrepid when you have a car full of kids.
SALON | July 21, 1998

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