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.
