I have never liked rain or the drops in which it arrives. I know some will chastise me by pointing out, “But farmers need the rain to grow our food.” I’ve even used that phrase to my children as they grew; another case of like parent, like child. Nonetheless, I don’t like rain.
My dislike began at a very early age. When it rained, my mother would not let me go outside to play. When I did manage to sneak outside, I would end up totally soaked before my mother made me come back inside, followed by being placed in the bath tub to get clean. I always felt that I was already clean, just wet. However, the bath did replace the chill with warmth. Perhaps I deliberately got wet, and thus chilled, just so I could take a warm bath. Somehow, that doesn’t seem probable.
In elementary school, my teachers took over for my mother and forbade going outside when it was raining, thus ruining many a recess. Strangely, in the winter months, we could go out and play in the snow and eventual slushy-snow getting very wet and cold. No warm baths in school. We had to sit in our wet clothes and shiver until a combination of room temperature and body heat dried our clothes enough for us to warm up.
High school brought no relief from the “no outside activities when it was raining” rule. However, I was in complete agreement with staying inside. I had joined the Boy Scouts when I was in 7th grade and personally experienced a couple of campouts where it rained. Being wet and dirty with no chance of a bath or shower and sleeping in a damp sleeping bag, permanently changed my outlook about playing in the rain. From the second such campout and beyond, I HATE being outside and wet. Then came Deborah.
I first met Deborah on December 21st 1968 at the home of my current crush and her best friend. We eventually began dating and on our first date, we visited the Florida Caverns State Park near Mariana on the panhandle of NW Florida. On the day we arrived the sky was mostly overcast and threatened to rain at any time with brief moments of sunshine. We had a two-hour wait before the cavern tour group for which we had tickets would begin. As it was lunch time, we decided to have a cookout and eat before the tour.
We had no matches or lighter and Deborah was nonplussed and began to bemoan the loss of a cookout fire. I was upbeat and not bothered at all by the lack of such fire-making tools. When Deborah asked me why I was still gathering various twigs, sticks, and kindling to lay in the grill, I told her I learned in the scouts how to make a fire without a lighter or matches. She did not believe I could do it and because the wood appeared too damp to burn. Naturally, I felt that she doubted my truthfulness and challenged my ability and skill. I had done this many times in the scouts so I was supremely confident I could do it again. Confidence riding on the back of knowledge.
I was only 2 or 3-years out of my scout troop and in the glove compartment of my car was my homemade flint “stick” and a scout pocket knife. The wood was all arranged and ready. I told Deborah to watch and learn. I drew the knife blade across the flint sending two hot sparks into the tinder. After two-seconds the tinder exploded into flame igniting the kindling and the cookout fire was lit and we ate a hot meal. After that event, she thought I could do anything, like walking in the rain with her.
After we finished eating and cleaning up the trash, it began to lightly rain. We were under trees so it did not get to us in quantity but it did begin to run off the leaves and cause drops of water to drip down. As it turned out, I learned that day that Deborah loves to walk in the rain as long as it isn’t too much. She learned that I HATE to get wet outside. The result: I walked with her in the rain and ultimately enjoyed the time and conversation. The rain did stop and the sun came out so, we were dry by the time we entered the caverns with our tour group. We had a great time, but I still HATE getting wet outside. I wish the laws of Camelot prevailed here so, “The rain may never fall ‘till after sundown…”.
© 3 Apr 2016
About the Author
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.
My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com
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