What do you think about in middle of an earthquake? Put yourself in our shoes at Disney, walking under a ten-story tall volcano, when the ground starts to sway.

What you would see is Carter and me grinning like idiots – Disney has the most realistic special effects!

Then the staff all run to their posts and yell loudly in Japanese. The message is unmistakable – “Stay Down! Don’t Move!” They repeat the shouts again and again.

We crouch down as does everyone else. But this huge volcano above us is not really made of rock. Probably it is some kind of spray-on concrete that covers a metal scaffolding designed by a film prop company. Uhoh.

We look around. People are brave and calm. Most quakes are over quickly. We will wait and laugh later.

By 30 seconds the intensity steadily continues to build and as the Japanese people all turn pale, you know this is either The Big One or close enough. This is a true catastrophic event.

The earth is roaring and shaking. We are clinging to a metal fence whose posts are blessedly secure in the cement floor.

I don’t have time to feel scared; just clamp down all emotion to stay calm. You cannot stop an earthquake; physics will decide the outcome. We can at best tip the scales if fate opens up the chance. So I stay focused in like a ballplayer waiting for the pitch. My senses are charged. The moment will come when something unexpected may suddenly happen. We need to be perfectly ready for that.

By 45 seconds the shaking is violent and this poise is assaulted. This looks like an underground tunnel but it really runs above ground level in the middle of the volcano. What floor are we really on? How much of the swaying is from the quake and how much from being on a hidden platform that is starting to wobble? Should we simply stand up and run for the outdoors and more solid ground? Carter and I are second-to-last in a line of perhaps 500 people. We could probably back out and leave the line but it feels stupid to break and run when everyone else – who know so much more about earthquakes than we do – is staying still. I see we are positioned under the arch of the entry doorway of the tunnel. Maybe that is reinforced. We will accept that we stay here.

By 60 seconds there is nothing to do. Gina and Katherine are somewhere else. I feel scared for them but pipe that down. I can’t think of that. My job is to keep Carter safe. I am sure Gina will do her best for Katherine. What can I do? I make him hold the lower fence while I hold the upper one. I clench both hands on the top rung, my back inclined over his head to make a pitched roof. My head is bowed I am a rock. I will keep the ceiling off him when it falls.

Carter says “Dad you don’t have to do that.” He is embarrassed. He is trying to rise. “Please let me do this,” I say, “It is making me feel better.” “OK Dad.”

At 90 seconds we are both just locked on and waiting, but the roof has not fallen yet. Maybe we will live. Wow what an experience to share! Maybe I could sneak just one video clip? But the camera is in my pocket. I can’t release my hands they must be tight in case of a sudden change. And letting go one hand for photos would be the hubris that brought disaster down upon us.

Around two minutes, the trembling slowly shrinks to clusters of shocks separated by growing periods of calm, like a receding ocean wave. The staff yells even louder not to move. They are on radios. We remain still for several minutes. People are quiet. Even the Japanese are in shock. I am scared again for Gina and Katherine. Carter and I stay close.

Finally, it is safe enough to snap a picture! A minute later, we are told to rise and file out. The crowd looks relieved but sober, well aware that further threats of tsunami and aftershocks or even a bigger earthquake could all soon occur. Faces worry as thoughts turn to others. We walk through the volcano halls, toward the outdoors.

Suddenly, Katherine and Gina are there. A wall inside me collapses in grief and relief. When we are all together, we can handle anything.