Formica Fire

My grandmother’s log home still had old amenities. My mother had grown up there with an outhouse. I don’t know when the bathroom was installed. It was straight across from the entry with the kitchen to the right and the living area to the left. It had a bathtub without a shower. With my parents getting ready for work and me for school daily over the past winter, it was getting a lot of use. My mother was worried about mold and mildew setting into the walls. If any repairs were to be done for the rest of my grandmother’s life, it would be my dad doing them. My parents decided to install a Formica tub surround.

The day of the installation, I played outside in the grass under the pine trees. My parents busily prepared their work areas and my grandmother fussed around them. It was my job to stay out of the way, so I casually watched. I sat in the grass pulling out strands and tying them into knots. I could hear the adults talking through the door left open for ventilation. “Here is a bucket you can put your paint brush in.” “We’d better put our cigarettes away, no smoking near the glue!” “Can I help? What do you need?” “No, Mom, we’re fine. We’ve got it.”

I found a ladybug and carefully lifted it on a piece of grass, let it crawl onto my finger, then onto another piece of grass until it flew off. Suddenly, there was a low, loud, “Whoosh” which caused me to look up. The window to the living room glowed orange. My mother yelled, “Jim! Jim!” in a scared, panicked voice I had never heard from her. I ran to the door. To my right, my grandmother was at the phone pushing buttons, “Hello! Is anyone there?” She clicked the receiver down and tried again, her fingers shaking and glancing off. To my left, I watched my father pick up a large rectangle of flaming Formica while my mother opened a door leading out to the street side. Dad carried it out yelling “Damn it!” He dropped it onto the ground. Then he was flapping his hand and grabbing it. My mother rushed by his side and they headed into the kitchen. “Run cold water on it!” My mother turned on the faucet while my dad put his hand under the water. “Ahh! Jesus Christ!”

The linoleum in the living room was singed brown over about four feet. My mother’s eyebrows were singed off. My dad had large blisters on his hand. The gas forced air heater which I loved to sit in front of had set the fire. My parents had forgotten about the pilot light. My mother worked in front of it, spreading glue across the panel with fumes filling the room. Fear was replaced with humor. “Aren’t we so smart, get rid of the cigarettes but forget the pilot light!” “How do I look without eyebrows?” Out of earshot of my grandmother, Dad said, “A lot of help she is when she is scared! How could she mess up dialing the phone?” They laughed together about Granny being flustered. Added to it, they had taken care to shut down the entry furnace but had forgotten the one in the living room.

My Dad had a bandaged hand and blisters for a week or so. At that time and whenever the story was re-told, he was the Hero who rescued my mom from certain injury. The fear and danger were real, as were his gallantry and bravery.