Cyclones and Bullfrogs

cyclone – noun 1. a large-scale, atmospheric wind-and-pressure system characterized by low pressure at its center and by circular wind motion, counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere, clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere.

I heard someone say last week that he would love to be a TV meteorologist. His exact words were, “In what other job can you be wrong 50 percent of the time and still have a job?” I thought his question was funny, but pondered why a preferred job is a low pressure job.

Yesterday I opened CNN.com to discover that 100,000 people may have died in Myanmar when Cyclone Nargis hit that region. Think about how excited people get when they win $100,000 on Deal or No Deal. It’s a lot of money and people jump up and down and scream because the number is so large and their fortunes so increase. But 100,000 people dying in one weather event? The number seems hard to get my arms around. I certainly don’t feel like jumping up and down, but what do I feel? I read the story and learn that whole villages are gone, 95 percent of the buildings in the delta region have been destroyed and people are injured and displaced. Still, what do I feel? Is it sadness? Is it pity? Is it too far away?

Last summer, my son J.J. put tadpoles in his grandfather’s fish ponds. He had caught them in the creek (pronounced “crick” if you live here) behind our house. Grandpa called the other day to announce that the tadpoles were full grown bullfrogs now, that they were eating his smaller fish and croaking all night long. Could J.J. please come get them and return them to the creek? My son needs no excuse to get wet, so yesterday he headed with his big bucket, his friend Corey, and his sister, down to release the bullfrogs into the wild.

About 25 minutes later, as I cooked tacos on the stove, I heard J.J.’s faint voice through the open windows, “Mom? Mom? I’m hurt.” I dropped the spoon and ran out the door at full speed to find him bleeding from the temple. Just a crazy creek accident, but I knew he’d need some stitches.

J.J. sat on my lap as I wiped his head and soothed his tears and I suddenly realized how I feel about Myanmar. I imagined a little bleeding boy calling out for his mom, but mom wasn’t there to help anymore. All at once, the number 100,000 is sobering. 100,000 real people that are gone no matter how hard their sons look. I feel pain and I want to help.

I wish it were different. I wish I had felt deeply the first time I read the story. Somehow, even when faced with such a large-scale atmospheric event, I choose to hide in the low pressure center. Perhaps it offers me a false sense of safety when things around me seem to be moving counterclockwise. I don’t know.

Integrate Myanmar into your life, and when it becomes real, here’s how you can help:

Myanmar Aid