Ryland Grace comforting a kid who is afraid of thunder.
Even though I'm writing on the board about photosynthesis and my back is facing them I can feel no one is listening.
There's a little chatter that can be heard over the downpour outside.
The rain. It always has this weird exciting effect on kids.
I'm about to get their attention back when a sudden bolt of lightning crosses the sky and I know I'm doomed.
Photosynthesis will have to wait.
Most of the kids rush to the windows while the sound finally reach our ears, long after the light reached our eyes.
"Does someone want to know something cool about thunder?" This gets their attention. They're not going back to their seats but at least they're looking my way. "Can someone tell me why we can see the lightning strike but not hear its sound at the same time?"
Someone raises their hand and I point at them: "It comes from the same thing?"
Oh boy. We have to start from the beginning.
"Excellent question!" I say and erase the board to start the explanations. I hear some chairs scrapping the floor in my back.
"Even though these are different, there is no thunder—the sound—without lightning—the light. And vice versa." I write the two words separately on the board, the first with a music note underneath and the second with a bolt. "The sound happens because the lightning happened." I look at them. "What happens in the sky is this: There are huge clouds that are called cumulonimbus, maybe some of you heard of this? On the weather forecast?" Some kids nod. "Wait a minute," I say while holding a finger up. I go to the computer and find an image of said clouds to show on the board. "Those big ones," I point with the dry erasable marker . "Those are cumulonimbus." I let them look at it for a second. "And those are soooo big that they have both very warm and moist air, called updrafts," I put a hand up, "and very cold air called downdrafts, because they push the cold and the rain down." I put the other hand down. "And when those two meet," I slowly bring my hands back together and slap them when they meet, I can see some kids jumping in their seat when the light from outside strikes at the same time. Science.
We let the sound reach us.
"So that's for the sound. As you can hear, there is a loud crack first, that's when the two collide, and then the rumble is what we call a shockwave. Just like when you throw a rock in a pond, they are little ripples on the water after the big splosh. In a storm, we hear it instead of seeing it on the water. And there is so much power and energy when the cold and the warm meet that it creates the light we see."
One of the kids raises her hand.
"Is it the same as when I see electricity when I put on my clothes sometimes?"
"Yes! Although it is not as strong, it is. It's actually called static electricity. And this one is caused by friction. Electricity can be created with a few different things, but always with energy. And, usually when static electricity happens, you can hear the sound with it, it's a little crackle."
She nods, along with some other.
"Ok, so now that we know this, I'll ask again: why do we see the bolt of lightning before we hear it?"
No ones raises their hands, and now I feel like I'm the worst teacher in the world. "Come on guys, we talked about the speed of sound last week, remember? When that fighter plane passed by the window?"
A few hesitant hands rise.
"Is it because it travels fast?"
I nod before I ask with another question: "Which one?"
"Which of the light or the sound travels faster?"
Now more than half of the hands are raised and it's almost a relief. I'm not talking all day for nothing.
"The light!" One replies after I let him speak. "We see the light of the strike before we hear it, so light travels faster.
"Yes!" I exclaim with a smile, interrupted by another bolt. The room grows quiet until we hear it.
"Does that mean it's close, Mister Grace?"
"Well, that's another cool thing about thunder, we can calculate how far it is."
I hear some sighs, because yes, of course, math is involved, and no, math isn't 'cool' for them, but every pair of eyes is back on the board as I turn around.
"When we see the light of the storm all we have to do is count the seconds until we hear the sound. And then it's just a little simple calculation where five seconds," I start writing on the board, "roughly equals one mile."
Just when I finish another light strikes and I hold my fingers up for every second that passes, silently counting until the sound crashes. Fifteen seconds. It's getting closer.
"So, who can tell me how far this storm is?"
"Three miles!" Some of them exclaim.
"Perfect! You guys were lucky it was a multiple of five." They go silent again. "Anyway, now you can watch." I say when everyone's attention is back on the windows. As long as the storm is here they'll count every time, now. But at least they learn something from it.
All the kids go except one.
"You don't want to see the storm?"
He looks briefly at me before resting his chin back on his hands which are flat on his desk.
"I'm scared," he whispers.
"You're safe in the classroom, it can't hurt you from here."
He looks at me again while I smile reassuringly, but he flinches as soon as the light strikes again and he closes his eyes in a way it probably hurts him.
I look at the other kids their nose almost to the window, and I can hear them counting. I know it's not really safe but for now it's still far, and there is nothing else I can do to get their attention back.
When the sound hits our ears, the kid in front of me has his hands on his ears while others exclaim how far it is.
When it's over I gently rest my hand on the kid's wrist to let him know, and he just opens his right eye before removing his hands and opens his other eye.
"You know, when I was little, I was also scared of the lightning?"
"And... you're not scared anymore?"
"There's a little trick," I say, my voice a little quieter, like I'm about to tell him a secret. "My brother taught me this. He was afraid of bees and one day I see him, sitting on his heels in the garden, just watching the bee, observing it. And then he wasn't afraid anymore."
"Just... Just like that?"
"Yes I tried too. Once, I was too scared about the thunderstorm to sleep and so for one second of courage I stood up and made my way to the window and just watched it."
"And you weren't afraid anymore?"
"Well, it was a little hard at night still, but after some time it got easier. I was pretending that someone was taking pictures outside my window, it made it easier."
"But what about the sound, this is what's scary."
"Ah. Unfortunately I don't have the answer, I still jump sometimes when I hear it." I laugh a little awkwardly. "Maybe you can pretend that someone is clapping because the picture is beautiful." He does this face where he totally doesn't believe me. Fair point, I wouldn't believe it either. "Yeah, I know, bad example. Most of the time, I was counting, just like we did, just like your classmates are doing. And it made it cooler. It felt like a game to me. Still does."
"It is! You want to try it with the next one?" I ask, afraid it might be a little too early.
He nods nonetheless and I stand up offering him my hand so we can walk to the window.
He takes it and squeezes it when the light strikes, but looking at him I can feel he is counting.
When the sounds reaches our ears, he says how far the storm is at the same time as his classmates. But he holds my hand until the class is over.
"Mister Grace? Can we go outside so we can be closer?"
"Well, as much as I would like to say yes, first of all it's raining and your parents would hate me if I let you out under this, and it's without mentioning how sick you would be. Second of all, standing outside under a thunderstorm is reaaaaally not safe."
"Could we die?" Someone asks and the one holding my hand squeezes it and his eyes are frightened when I look at him.
"Well the zero risk doesn't exist," everyone gaps. I know I can't lie but maybe I should learn to. Sometimes I end up scaring them more than I should. Science. "But," I say a little louder to stop the chatter, "It's only rare because people don't go out during storms and, the human body is incredible for this, we are conductors of electricity. So as long as your feet are on the ground, the electricity of the bolt will go right through you and onto the ground." They all stare at me quietly. "That doesn't mean you should go out during a storm, understand me?"
Thankfully the bell rings a few minutes later and the storm hasn't ruin the whole hour.
And I already know what I'm going to talk about in the next class.
And at the next storm, which happens at night, Grace thinks about that kid and he is a little worried.
His worries are confirmed because the kid obviously hasn't slept at all, but when he asks him in private, the kid smiles and says "I watch the thunderstorm all night!" and Grace can't find it in himself to blame him. He had done the same more than once.
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