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When I was a kid, my family moved from our home in upstate New York, all the way down to North Carolina, all because of something to do with my dad's job.

It was a pretty scary time in my life, for someone so young to have to leave behind their school friends and stuff and settle in an entirely new place was deeply disconcerning and

saddening. But none of that compared to what I would face one day during elementary school.

To me, it was a morning a lot like any other. Nothing remarkable or ominous about it.

I mean, the weather seemed pretty crappy, so there was no outside recess during

the morning, but that's not entirely unusual during the fall on the east coast. But as the

afternoon progressed, I remember looking out of the windows of our classroom and seeing the

light drizzle of the morning progress steadily into some of the heaviest wind and rain I had ever seen,

like it was pounding against the window so hard at one point that our teacher had to actually

raise their voice in order to make themselves heard. Not long after, another teacher walks in the

classroom, quickly walks up to our teacher standing at the front of the class and whispers

something in her ear. Our teacher immediately goes all wide-eyed, and although we didn't know

...