No Fake Quake

Last night, a 4.4 earthquake occurred 17 miles due east of my northern California home. I was in my home office reading online news; my 7-year-old son Skyler was playing a computer game downstairs. I felt the tremor and flew down the stairs, fearing maybe the Big One had come again. “Sky, that was an earthquake,” I told him. My boy knows I have a penchant for practical jokes. He says, “Dad, is this one of your pranks?” I nearly bust a gut laughing, which only convinced him I had caused the house to shake as a way as part of some elaborate charade. So I said, “I’ll turn on the TV and prove it,” but there was no news coverage yet. So I turned on the AM radio, and we listened as the San Francisco host talked about how the skyscraper had just shaken, and callers began to phone in with local reports. At that point Sky believed me and began to cry. “Are we safe?” he asked. I held him and said the quake was over. “Will there be another one?” I responded, “Some day, probably, yes. How about some ice cream for now?” Thus the crisis ended and Dad’s credibility was restored. (When the earth trembles, Rocky Road's good to have on hand.) In 1989, I was living 1.1 miles from the very epicenter of the Loma Prieta temblor. Oh, do I have earthquake stories to tell...