In the video, I am terrified.
The rain is pouring down all around me, and I’m standing on the safety of the porch, my arms wrapped around myself, dressed only in my Sailor Moon-themed underwear. 
“Daddy,” I say, “is it safe? I mean, can the lightening get me?”
My dad’s hand comes into view as he gestures toward the rain only steps away. I look and see my sister, in her Pooh-bear swimsuit, running around and screaming with glee in the rain, splashing through puddles. Her curly head of hair is soaked and sticking to her face, but I’ve never seen her look happier.
“Does it look like the lightening is getting Jessi?” My dad asks.
“No. But still. Is it safe?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s safe. Go have fun. Go play.”
I have a moment of hesitation. A bolt of lightening flashes across the sky. And then I’m running into the rain, screaming, laughing. Raindrops pelt my skin like little wet needles, and the thunder booms rattle my ribcage, but I keep running. 
I run until I catch up to my sister, and we join hands and dance in the rain. And then we both run back to our father with the video camera.
“It didn’t get me, daddy! I was running too fast! Did you see me? Did you see how fast I was running? It didn’t get me!” I say.
In the years to come, the lightening would eventually catch me. Many times. And the shock may stop me in my tracks every once in a while, but I recover, still safe.
And then, I keep on running.