How I Became Hurricane Matthew

The first time I tried to really spin it, and I really mean really, my father quickly swooped in like the hungry bird he was. “Don’t do that,” he told me, “You’ll break something.”

A boy will run, and he will jump. But must he land, and where? Should he land straight-on, eyes pointed forward like a headlamp, or should he bring himself to the ground at a sharp angle, turning like the wind? I was only a child when the wind caught my shirt and sent me around, pivoting on my sliding heel. “This is a good thing, I will do it,” I thought, “and I will be careful not to break anything.”

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