They were sticky summer nights; the crickets were hypnotizing me. The fireflies filled the dark skies leaving twinkling trails of where they had been. I tried keeping my eyes on one, they are some crafty illusionists. We finally had separate beds and I had the best seat in the house, no more fighting for the best bunk. My bed was set under the window that overlooked our porch. Sixty years old and struggling to stand up straight, the roof was cradled by a rickety white picket railing barely held together by it’s original nails. My parents warned us never to attempt what was clearly on all of our minds… To climb out there, of course, and on a night like this who wouldn’t? Who am I kidding, I’m petrified of heights… The room was dark but the moon’s light cast just enough detail to make out the silhouette of my sisters in their beds. Somehow, they’ve managed to fall asleep in this suffocating humidity. It was the early 90’s and my parent’s believed in self induced air conditioning (sleeping in our underwear.) I tossed and turned, there was no way I could fall asleep. I looked out my window at my new five-star view and the once beautiful twinkling sky was now looming with dark, ominous clouds. Suddenly, my new-found independence was M.I.A. I pulled my curtains shut and clutched my sheets waiting for the show to begin. Bright flashes tore through the curtains casting creatures of all walks and sizes under beds and across the walls. I closed my eyes as tight as I could in hopes that I would quickly fall into a deep sleep and protect myself from possible electrocution via my new “favorite” spot. A rumble of thunder rattled our windows and shook my sisters right out of their deep sleep. Within seconds we were all sharing one bed. My older sister (wise beyond her own good) assured us everything would be okay and concentrated her comforts on our younger sister who was producing more tears than there was rain. I had to be brave. Our door opened slowly and a tall shadow floated into our room; a soft acoustic melody began to break the anticipation of the next big crack of thunder. My Dad sat in-between us and we cuddled as close as we could without breaching the personal space of his most prized possession (other than his daughters of course!) With a few random strums its as if his fingers became mechanical and the music began to hush my sisters cries. He sang to us and for the first verse we listened as we dried our eyes
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings These are a few of my favorite things… Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes Snow flakes that stay on my nose and eye lashes Silver white winters that melt into spring These are a few of my favorite things… When the storm bites When the bee stings When I’m feeling sad I simply remember my favorite things And then I don’t feel so bad
My older sister began to sing, and my Dad harmonizing with her, my younger sister and I were in awe of them and had forgotten about the life-threatening storm that had us clutching each other for dear life only moments ago. I sang along with the refrain, the only part I knew at that age, and smiled knowing that everything was okay. 
We are grown, and like most, we have families of our own, to-do lists, social events, conferences, work and priorities that take precedence to memories and bonds that made us who we are today. My family, despite our differences and far from flawless likenesses, maintains a relationship and manages to keep those bonds preserved year after year. These hot summer nights are a reminder for me. A memory of a pact that was made, to always be there for one another, to protect what means the most to us. This has become more of a holiday song for us, but we still sing together and it brings a tear to my and memories flood my head. Even through the worst times, when challenges seem impossible to overcome, there will always be that shadow and a melody in my heart that reassures me that everything will be okay.
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