If there's one thing The Loved One and I don't see eye to eye on, it's storms.

When we were first seeing each other, back in September 2001, we drove up to Racine, Wisconsin to see where she grew up. It was a close, sticky day with towering thunderheads boiling up on the southwest horizon. We walked barefoot through the sand on Racine's lakefront, holding hands and picking up stones that caught our eye.

It should have been an afternoon of pure leisure and the joy of new love but I noticed a certain edginess in her manner. She kept looking over her shoulder toward the southwest, as if some midnight slasher were stalking her. I glanced in that direction and noticed the thunderheads moving closer and closer. Soon, the sky was dark, the wind picked up and lightning flashed. I loved it. Something about a storm makes me feel alive and adventurous. "Man," I said, "this is great!"

The Loved One looked at me as though I'd suggested we attend a satanic ritual that evening. "This is horrible!" she replied, her eyes darting from side to side. "We have to get out of here!"

"No, no!" I protested. By my estimate, the storm was bearing down on us as if we had targets painted on our backs. "I wanna stay right here - we have to see this."

"Uh uh," she said, shaking her head violently. At that very moment, the emergency sirens at the nearby Wind Point Lighthouse started wailing. The hair on my arms stood on end. Maybe I'm a loon but I wanted to remain where we were and be drenched by the coming downpour.

The Loved One would have none of it. We ran for the car, peeled away and sought refuge at her sister's house some miles away. Turns out The Loved One had the right instinct - we learned that a funnel cloud had passed right over the lighthouse. Still, I was disappointed we missed it.

Flash to a August 2003. It was a Friday night and monster thunderstorms were rolling in. We were at her place across Foster Avenue from Amundsen High School. I stood by the broad picture window watching the lightning display. The TV, tuned to The Weather Channel, issued the constant beep-beep-beep of a severe storm warning. Again, it seemed the storms were aiming for us.

"Mike," The Loved One hollered, "get away from that window!"

"No way, it's beautiful."

"Mike, please!" As she hollered, she was busily setting up a fort in the hallway. She gathered all the pillows and sofa cushions in the place and erected a sort of structure into which she stowed candles, matches, flashlights and a battery-powered radio. She herded up the two cats and burrowed herself in to wait out the storm. Again, there were reports that a funnel cloud had been spotted not a mile from us.

After the storm had passed, she razed her fort. "Don't you ever do that again," she hissed. "What's the matter with you? Do you want to get killed? You could even have a heart attack!"

But she and I knew that I can't be kept from watching a storm.

The Loved One returned home from Bloomington Thursday night because she'd taken the next day off to celebrate her birthday (Happy Birthday, Kitty!) She just beat a line of thunderstorms scudding our way from southwestern Indiana. By the middle of the night, we'd been buffeted. The lightning and thunder kept me awake so I figured, What the hell, may as well watch the show. I went out to the front porch and leaned against the brick wall, taking it all in.

I'd rather watch a storm than any show on television. I recall sneaking out on the front porch when I was a little kid to be near my father during spectacular thunderstorms. He'd sit on an enormous concrete planter and puff away on his Tareytons, his blue eyes flashing with each lightning bolt and thunderclap. I knew better than to say anything to him even though I was terrified. He was in his own world. Those were among the few moments of bonding he and I ever shared.

I thought of the Old Man as the Thursday night storm howled. He would have loved it.

Suddenly, a mighty bolt of lightning came straight down not 200 yards from me. It struck the top of a tall pin oak in the neighbor's front yard. It issued a sharp, earsplitting crack as it cleaved the hard wood. The hairs on my arms stood out like needles. Them came a boom so loud and jarring that if it didn't sound exactly like the end of the world, it'll do until I hear the real thing.

My heart jumped out of my chest, grabbed me by the neck of my T-shirt and hollered, "Let's get the hell outta here, you idiot!" All the parts of my body that are normally small suddenly jutted out. Conversely, all those parts that I like to think are rather massive became miniscule.

I flew back inside and hollered, "Holy fuck! That scared the living crap outta me! Didja hear that?"

Of course The Loved One, buried under a mountain of quilts and comforters in the bed and surrounded by flashlights and cats, had heard it.

"I thought I was gonna have a heart attack!" I said as I bounded into the bedroom.

"Good," she said. "Now you'll learn."