“I want to be a tornado when I grow up.â€? said the boy after he marched up to his parents. “You’ll have to go to school for that.â€? replied his father, without looking up from his copy of Time. “Yes.â€? added his mother from behind her knitting. “It’s no small matter for a boy to become a major meteorological event.â€? “Well, I don’t care.â€? The boy stated flatly. “I’m going to be a tornado and that’s final.â€? After a week of searching the phone listings, they finally found someone who was willing (for about ten dollars an hour, three hours a week) to teach him how to become a tornado. The training was quite rigorous, mostly spent spinning in place while a tubby man in a red track suit with a combover yelled at him (“Faster, faster! You’ll never make F3 like that! C’mon, think wind shear!!â€?). After about three months of intense preparation and nausea, he was ready. He was sent to devastate a small town in Iowa, and did well until he collided with the first fence post and sprained his wrist rather badly.