This one’s about dad!
Dad has us out in the driveway one night with a cheap little barbecue on a wagon, roasting marshmallows and looking at the neighboring farm field as if it had something to say. Nice calm evening.
But it’s not because dad has sagely wisdom to offer. He is drunk and had visitation. This is dark and quiet so that’s what we are doing right now.
Afterward, dad puts the lid on the barbecue to smother it and wheel the thing into the garage. Obnoxious little cub scout me remembers what I was taught in school, that we should put the thing out with water when we are done.
Dad: “no, it’ll be harder to light later.”
Me: “it’ll dry out by then. Just get the hose.”
Dad: “no. Wheel this into garage.”
Ooooookay.
The next day, dad and grandma are watching football and the house seems strangely foggy.
Me: “dad, something’s wrong. Is this smoke?”
Dad: “it’s just fog. It’s fine.”
Me: -twists fog around finger- “do this. Have you ever been able to do that with fog?”
Dad: “it’s fine.”
So I go downstairs and see the light of flames reflecting off the insulation on the walls. Fuck. Someone put a cardboard box on the wagon with the barbaque and it fell into it and knocked off the lid. I know I can’t open the garage and give it air but child me doesn’t know what I should be doing.
Me: “dad, there’s a fire!”
Dad: “no, there’s do fire.”
Me: -dropping the boy scout act- “LOOK IN THE DAMN GARAGE!”
Grandma: -wide eyes-
This is tactical. Teenage me swearing is nothing that gets dad’s attention. Getting his mother’s attention, however, means I just complained to management.
Dad reluctantly goes downstairs, sees his child was RIGHT about the fire under him, he drags is it out to the driveway to deal with, runs around like crazy looking for something to put it out while the house airs out. (No fog outside by the way)
The neighbor babysitter runs over because opening the garage let out a shitton of smoke and she freaked the fuck out. She’s also dressed for a Halloween party as a slutty cat so now I get to watch my father perving on the babysitter.
Sunday evening comes around and mom picks us up. I’m still bitter about being ignored by my father so guess what I told bitter mom right away?
Let them fight.