If you’re reading this, you have internet and battery. At the very least, we can shop on Amazon and live tweet Hurricane Ian. Yes, this post is highly targeted at the Florida reader, but I think we can all relate to impending national disasters (Northeast & Midwest with snow storms, South & Southwest with tornadoes and hurricanes, California with literally everything, including wildfire, earthquakes, locust swarms and meteorites). I’ve been fairly lucky—knock on wood—to avoid a significant impact, but this is my first experience going through it as a dad.
(In full disclosure, my first daughter Saoirse was two months old when Hurricane Irma rolled through the south. We lost power for eight days in Florida summer heat, but I was so sleep deprived from our newborn, I barely knew my name.)
“What’s a hurricane?',” that same daughter asked a few days ago. “A crazy storm with lots of rain and wind that comes from the ocean,” I answered as I tried to also remember the ingredients in the drink of the same name (rum, lemon juice and passionfruit syrup for what it’s worth). “Well, what do we do for it?,” her interest partly excited and partly frightened.
Nothing. Literally nothing. At least that’s what it feels like. Barricaded inside your home, you switch between local meteorologists covering their seasonal Super Bowl and pontificating the intensity of the storm through living room windows. “Getting windy. Lot of rain. Quick, it’s slowed down a bit so let the dog out.” Prepped with water, flashlights, playing cards and booze, it’s the worst waiting game that no one wins.
Leading up to the lockdown, we get tangled in an apocalyptic run on consumer goods (despite the scheduled “Hurricane Season” occurring every year from June to November). The grocery store looks like a scene from Lord of the Flies, neighbors trying to win of tug-of-war over toilet paper.
Navigating the aisles of the store, though, provides a fascinating look at our basic human needs. Yeah, water, batteries and flashlights are the first to go. But it’s the modest PB&J ingredients, Doritos and Pop-Tarts that are the true lifesavers in this whole ordeal. On the flip side, check out the products that are fully stocked. People would rather starve than eat Thomas’ pumpkin spice sandwich thins! And we won’t even get started on the tropical fruit that no one knows how to eat. If I can’t stuff it in my gullet within five seconds, I’m out.
Walk a little further down the beer and wine aisle, and you might just confuse it for New Year’s Eve. You can actually see people doing the math in their head: if I’m stuck inside for three days, how many White Claws will I need per hour? And we all have to admit we’ve actually wondered if we could drink booze as a replacement for the sold out water. It’s all liquid, right?!
Back to the hurricane. We’ve entered the “cone of uncertainty,” a sci-fi term that lends itself to some wild word bingo, alongside palm fronds, spaghetti models, storm surge and wind shear. This is weatherman porn at its peak. Remember when we had to listen to the radio to hear if school was cancelled? Now, my dog gets notifications about storm updates. Meanwhile, we’ve also hit maximum boredom level for our kids, and it’s only 9:04 a.m. I’ve heard “Rain, Rain, Go Away” 73 times, and there is only so much play-doh, Cocomelon and legos one can handle.
“Dad, I’m booooooored. Can we play outside?” Um, unless you want to fly over the neighborhood like Peter Pan, probably not. It’s a tricky thing, trying to stay calm and controlled for your kids, while battling the anxiety of the outdoor chaos. But short of standing on my roof with a giant sponge and tarp, there is little I can do to slow the spell.
I suppose, like everything else, this too shall pass. Pass me a White Claw.