Parents provide comfort at any age

by Gloria Diaz
Editorial Director

Two bright spots, looking almost like headlights on a car. One at the top, the other at the bottom.

Shortly thereafter I see a bright orange line forming on what I realize to be the side of a mountain just east of La Verne.

I recognized that line to be the beginning of the Claremont front of the raging wildfires that have been going on since last week.

It was then that the memories of last year's wildfires came back to me. I remember walking out of class and seeing the flames so clearly. I could see them dance as the wind maneuvered their every move. It was something I had never seen before; something that I never thought I would see.

Now as I sit here, thoughts of my other experiences with natural disasters come to my mind.

At approximately 4:30 a.m. on Jan. 15, 1994, I awoke to the sound of windows shuttering and the entire house rumbling as if it were on a truck going over numerous speed bumps.

I screamed to look for my mom once I realized what was happening. She ran down the hall to my room to herd me into a doorway. It was at that point that she pulled my sister out of bed as I crouched in the doorway hoping nothing would fall on me or around me.

At the time, I was in fifth grade, I was a brave kid, or so I thought.

Once the occurrence of the earthquake hit me, I did not hesitate to scream for my parents like a helpless toddler.

The 6.8 magnitude Northridge earthquake left more than just broken dishes and cracks on the wall. Rather, it left a feeling that I hoped I would not feel again.

A couple days before the earthquake, my dad had left for Mexico because my grandmother had died.

At no other time in my life had my dad been gone during an earthquake.

My dad returned a few days after the earthquake to find me somewhat traumatized.

At any small shake I would run to the doorway and hope that it was not an aftershock or another, stronger earthquake. There were times at night when my mom would wake up to hear me screaming for her or my dad while I was asleep.

After a couple months of feeling no aftershocks and realizing that being away from my dad during such an experience was a one-time thing, I resumed a normal life.

The only thing that still remains is that I stop whenever I hear a certain sound that I remember hearing right before an aftershock from the Northridge earthquake.

As I continue to sit here with the rigid smell of burnt wood still in my nose, after so many days of it being in the air, I think about how I am, again, without my parents to help me to that doorway.

So here I am - looking out the window and watching this wall of orange and yellow form. Although I have not been directly affected by the fires, I can't help myself from calling my mom everyday to tell her I am OK.

I do not scream in my sleep looking for my parents anymore, but there are still those times, like now, that I wish I could holler and my mom would come down the hall to see what was wrong.

I am in no way trying to compare my experience with people losing their homes. I am simply trying to share my experience with natural disasters.

Gloria Diaz, a junior journalism major, is editorial director of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at btls60s@att.net.