Dear Mom, Thanks for Teaching Me How to Drive in a Thunderstorm and Wear SPF 50

Dear Mom,

I didn’t realize at the time what you were teaching me.

I thought you were just yelling from the front seat to “slow down when the road’s shiny,” or throwing a bottle of sunscreen in my backpack like it was as essential as lunch. But now I know: you were building me into someone strong enough to live under a blazing sun, through sideways rain, in a place where the mosquitoes have their own zip code.

You taught me to drive through summer thunderstorms with both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the other idiots. “Rain means slick roads. Don’t panic. Don’t brake hard. Don’t be dumb.”
(You always had a way with words.)

I didn’t appreciate the sunscreen lectures, either—until I saw my first sunburnt tourist walking around Epcot looking like a boiled lobster. That’s when I realized: SPF 50 wasn’t just lotion. It was wisdom. It was love. And it smelled faintly of coconut and survival.

You taught me that planning a hurricane kit is a love language. That Publix subs are a valid emotional support system. That you don’t wait for someone else to batten down the hatches—because moms are the hatches.

You weren’t just navigating Category 4 winds—you were holding the emotional structure of our home together while the storm rattled the windows. You made hurricanes feel like campouts and power outages feel like permission to slow down.

And the way you did it all in flip-flops? That’s a superpower.

You kept us hydrated, grounded, and yes, exfoliated. You reminded us to drink water, but also to speak up. You taught us to laugh in the heat, find beauty in chaos, and never leave the house without bug spray and backup snacks.

Mom, you are a Florida original.

Thank you for teaching me to roll with the thunder, block out the burn, and keep my eyes open—even in a squall. I hope today, at the very least, someone brings you a Publix cake and gets the icing just right.

Love you always,
Your hurricane-season-hardened, SPF-covered, flip-flop-wearing kid

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