How This Weatherboy Became A Weatherman
Growing up, I always thought weather was just something that happened. As a kid, I’d play in the rain, jump around in puddles, make snowmen. What an arrogant fool I was, unaware of the power and majesty of the elements. I was even more enthralled by the mysterious man on the screen who commanded them. Watching him then, I did not know his name, nor that he would plant in me a seed that would be watered with my own tears, with a high of 76 and a low of 57. I may have started as a naive Weatherboy, but trial and hardship have molded me into a fierce and ferocious Weatherman.
People call me a meteorologist, but I’ve never liked those fancy ten-dollar lawyer words. Weathermanning isn’t something that can be taught in a classroom at a prestigious university. I should know: I’ve never even seen a college. Weathermanning is taught in the real world, with night classes at the school of hard knocks and an internship in the streets.
Some think being a weatherman is easy. They say things like “It’s just pointing at a screen,” and “They’re wrong half the time,” and “I don’t care if you’re with your son, you’re drunk and you need to leave the zoo.” I don’t even hear them anymore. I cut out the…
