Storiesonline.net ------- Wrath of Dad by TonyG Copyright© 2005 by TonyG ------- Description: A childhood accident that still haunts the adult he has now become Codes: no-sex true ------- I want to share something with you. It is something I haven't spoken of in years. But It is an event that even after all of the years that have separated me from it, and with all the more traumatic events which have happened since. This one event still haunts me. It is in that intimidating place that all of us know. It is that dark and fearful place that exists somewhere in between the time we are fully asleep, and half awake. So come join me as I take you back to simpler times, and an event that still haunts' my dreams. I was three perhaps four at the time the following story took place. I had a curiosity that was much larger than myself. It was an all-consuming type of curiosity. The type that only a child of that age can really achieve. I know that I had not started school yet, but it had been talked about. I lived in a very old house. Even at the time I was a young child, growing up it was very old. The house had been retrofit for electricity in the twenties. They did the oddest things back then. I have to assume it was to save on the cost of the wiring. The outlets were four feet off of the floor, in all the rooms of the original section of the house. This included the living room. The understanding of this comes into play later, but I won't go into it, at the moment. The house was a 'two bedroom' and I shared it with my parents, and seven brothers and sisters. I was the youngest of the five boys, but I did have a younger sister. At that time, she would have been two or three. As you can well imagine with ten people sharing a two-bedroom house, there was very little privacy. So, during the summer months, getting outside and away from each other was a key to our sanity. There was an acre of land that was with the house, so we didn't have to spend time in one another's lap if we didn't want to. All of us who remember that part of our childhood, remember everything we saw. We 'discovered' everything and it was all new and wonderful. Being the next to the youngest had its advantages and disadvantages. The grown ups would tend to dote more over my younger sister and I, because we were the youngest. But since we were so much younger than the others, we were ignored by our siblings quite often. Today was no exception to that rule. Most of my brothers and sisters were off doing their own thing. My parents were in the kitchen, doing whatever it was that adults did. Even at that age, though, I understood that it included beer or alcohol of some type. This weekend my Aunt and Uncle were visiting which meant that my parents were even more occupied than normal. My sister, who was the baby of the family, was asleep in her crib. This left me to find my own forms of amusement. Even at that young of an age, I had become quite accomplished at finding ways to amuse myself. On this particular weekend I was spending a warm summer day exploring all of the wonders and mysteries of our living room. There was always a certain wonder to watching the sparkling particles of dust drift through the sunshine's rays, blasting through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Of course even during my most occupied of times, I always stayed aware of where I was, in respect to '"the chair"'. There was nothing really remarkable about this chair. It wasn't an antique, or a family heirloom. It was just an old overstuffed chair, whose arms and seat were thread bare from use. There was probably one much like it in the furnishings of thousands of other low-income homes. There was only one thing that made this one chair any more remarkable than the ones in those other homes. This one had the distinction of being designated as. '"Dad's Chair"'. It always had the aroma of machine oil about it. Dad worked in a tool and die shop. Many times he had come home, tired from work, and had collapsed onto the chair before showering and changing clothes. So, machine oil from his clothes, transferred to the chair. Occasionally, metal filings found their way onto the chair, as well. Please remember that I was only three or four at the time, and that my perspective of size has changed. Many of the things I thought were gigantic back then now look normal for an adult. Perhaps it was because of that youthful perspective, that 'the chair' looked so monstrously huge. To me, 'the chair' appeared to be over six feet tall, with arms that were nearly four feet wide apart. As the day progressed I had grown weary of my normal diversions. I was no longer interested in chasing the dust particles in the sunlight, and I had already mounted a safari into the deepest darkest regions of the room. I had already discovered the mythical toys that always filled me with wonder, even though they were the same toys I had played with the last time I had explored that area of the room. However, since I had grown used to entertaining myself during the long summer days. It wasn't long before my attention was focused on something new. A shining object which had been in the room for quite some time, yet had never caught my attention before. It had my attention fully, now. The problem was it's close proximity to 'the chair'. Even at my young age, I understood 'the chair' was completely taboo. We weren't allowed to sit in it, even when Dad was at work. Now 'the chair' had become an obstacle in my quest to attain that which I desired to attain. The object of my focus was round, red, and glowing. It was attached to the wall, above the back of the chair. My mother had explained to me that it was a 'night-light'. But it wasn't night, and still it was lit. She may have even mentioned that I was to leave it alone, but that seemed distant and unimportant now. Imagine, it was daytime, and still this thing was glowing. I was in a state near rapture. It was something new that I did not understand: a 'night-light' that also shone during the day. It now had my full attention and little else around me mattered any longer. I had discovered a new mystery perhaps this would be my greatest quest yet. After all how often does a 'night-light' shine during the day? Even at that young age I needed to understand why and how things worked. I knew that I had to discover the mystery behind the night-light. I am not sure how long I stood staring at the glowing thing on the wall. I remember trying to figure out how I could get closer to it without touching '"Dad's chair'". The longer I stood there, the less important the taboo of the chair became. I had to discover how that night-light thing worked. But I also knew the dangers of getting caught in or on 'the chair'. So I crept into the room that separated the living room from the kitchen. The adults we involved in a loud conversation and there was much laugher. Even though the conversation was beyond me, I could tell by the tone of it, that they would be occupied for a while. I walked back into the living room, being very careful not to touch any of the creaky boards in the floor. If I did, one of my parents might realize that I was in the house, and not outside with my brothers and sisters. I don't remember when I became aware of it, but I had known for quite some time that the house was off limits for us kids during the warm weekends, when my Dad was home. Of course that made my being in the house all that more exciting. I stood in front of the chair for quite some time before reaching out tentatively with my hand to touch it. I fully expected that the moment my hand made contact with the seat of the chair, that he would somehow know, and the full 'wrath of Dad' would fall upon my head. My need to reach the night-light thing was overpowering. It had a life of it's own, and I found I couldn't stop myself. My hand continued on as if by its own volition. Maybe hoping in my child's way that he would know. Then, if only for a few minutes, I would have his full attention instead of the can of beer he was intent on when I peeked into the kitchen. The moment my hand made contact with the seat of the chair I felt my whole body tense. To make things worse, the moment my hand had contacted the seat of the chair, a loud bout of laughter drifted in from the kitchen. Although merely coincidence I was certain that this was 'the end'. I had imagined, on occasion, what would happen if I ever got the nerve to touch '"his chair'". So my young mind confused the laughter with the sound of the roof collapsing down upon my head. I closed my eyes tightly, and waited for the blow that 'would take me out of this world'. Which was my father's favorite phrase if someone dared to cross him. Amazingly, the blow never came. After waiting for what seemed an eternity, I opened my eyes, but just a slit. Then a little wider, then wider, then fully open. I found that nothing had changed. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. I cringed when a loud noise came from the kitchen, again. This time it took me only an moment to realize that what I had mistaken for the roof collapsing in on me, was only laughter. Looking back on this now, I have to wonder what would have been thought of me if I had been found standing in front of my Dad's chair, rigid as a board with my eyes squeezed tightly shut. What would have happened if someone had touched me at that instant in time? Well, to get back to the story. I was finally able to convince myself that the world was not going to come to an immediate cataclysmic end, because I had 'touched "Dad's chair'". But to be certain I reached out and touched it again, and then again. Feeling much more sure of myself, I slowly began climbing onto the seat of the chair. I was still making sure that there was little or no noise coming from the kitchen, while I slowly moved. Every time the voices in the kitchen got louder I froze, and waited for them to reach a normal level again. When at last I reached the light, I felt as though hours had passed. I felt as exhausted as a man who had just climbed Mount Everest. Soon, however, being this close to the glowing thing that I had felt so drawn to made me forget all about how tired I felt. I also no longer gave any thought to getting caught. I didn't care anymore, now that my goal was now so very close. Standing against the back of the chair, and reaching with my hand, I touched the glowing thing. I found it to be pleasantly warm to the touch. Looking more closely, I noticed that it was stuck into one of the wall outlet things. I must admit I knew little of their true function, then I did know that it was normally cords that got stuck into them. I am not sure what possessed me to do so, but I grabbed a hold of the 'night-light' thing with both hands and pulled with all my strength. This it turned out, was a mistake. I had exerted far too much effort. The glowing light thing slid out of the wall easily, and for a second or two, I was overbalanced. I had to struggle to keep from tumbling out of the chair backwards. After regaining my balance, and recovering from the sudden fear of falling, I was overwhelmed with excitement. I now had in my possession 'the night-light that glowed during the day too'. I began to examine it, with the eyes of a curious child. I took in every aspect of it. The back of it was black, and had two metal things sticking out of it. When I turned it over to admire the front of my new acquisition, the excitement drained out of me. It was quickly replaced by disappointed confusion. Ever since my mother had placed it from where I had retrieved it, it had glowed. The glow was now gone, and the red surface had a dull look to it. I stood there for a moment as though dazed. Finally a horrified realization swept over me. I knew what it was to break something, but worse I knew what happened when you broke something. The punishment was always immediate, and almost always severe. A weak squeal of fear worked its way into my throat. I quickly clamped my mouth shut, before it could escape. It was an action that was purely instinctive. Deep down I knew that if the scream had escaped I would be 'caught red handed'. I hadn't broken very many things in my young life; but after even one, you learned that the punishment would be severe. How severe depended on how many trips Dad had made to the refrigerator for a 'fresh one'. Panic began to overtake me as thoughts of being discovered ran through my mind. It was getting difficult to think clearly. I knew two things had to be done. I had to get the night-light thing back where it belonged and I had to get as far away from it as possible. If I was lucky my parents wouldn't notice right away, and the blame wouldn't be placed on me. I made several fumbling attempts to put it back without much success. I looked at it helplessly. Then a dawning of understanding hit me. I looked at the two metal prongs on the back of it. Then I looked at the two slots in the 'outlet thing' on the wall. I decided to try once more, this time taking the time to very carefully line the metal pieces with the slots in the outlet. It lined up perfectly, I made my decision to push it into the wall and make a hasty retreat when the most amazing thing happened. As the prongs slid into the wall, the night-light began to glow again. My hand fell to my side and my eyes widened with awe at my discovery. After only a moment or two I reached up and pulled it back out of the outlet and the glow once again disappeared. I examined it even more closely, hoping to find its secrets, but it yielded none. However, when I plugged it back in, the glow reappeared. Although I now know that I was doing nothing more than completing a circuit through a light bulb. At that point I was no less fascinated by it than a caveman would be after discovering fire. I began to plug it in so it would light and then unplug it and watch it go out. I kept repeating it hoping that doing so would somehow coax the mystery of it out. I am not sure how many times I had repeatedly plugged it in and then unplugged it before the 'wrath of Dad' finally fell upon me. One of the times I was plugging it back in sparks began leaping out of the back of it. I felt a jolt as current began to ravage my body. It was several moments before I was able to pull my hand away from the light. Even after doing so my body wouldn't respond to my mind's pleas to run away. I stood frozen on the seat of my father's chair. I watched helplessly as the sparks continued to spray out of the back of the night-light. I was unaware that the sparks were falling onto the stuffing that poked out of the threadbare seat. I didn't notice when the stuffing ignited and the first flames began to eat hungrily at the stuffing and cloth. It wasn't until I felt the heat that I was able to shake myself out of my daze. I looked down and saw the flames licking at my legs. It looked like they were trying to decide if I was tasty enough to consume. Suddenly the panic I had been holding back finally broke loose. I picked up my left foot to get it away from the flames while the right foot continued to get hot. So I picked up my right foot dropping my left foot back into the flames. I began hopping back and forth changing legs until it resembled a primitive tribal fire dance. I kept hoping that the flames weren't getting a good enough taste of me. Suddenly a blood-curdling scream came out of me. The kind of scream that only comes from a person in fear of their life. The next thing I knew I was being swept off of my feet. I was being cradled in tender arms, as my face was buried in the ample bosom of my mother. I was rushed through the house. Flames were eating greedily away at my pants and shoes as we went. The rest is just flashes... , being dumped into the bathtub, cold water running over my legs, my melted shoes, scorched socks, and burnt pants being stripped off of me; looking down, and seeing angry red splotches that started where my socks ended just below my knees. I don't know how the fire ended up being put out. My mother brought a chair into the bathroom. She had me sit in it, while she dried my legs and applied a salve. Then she wrapped my legs in gauze. While she bandaged my legs, my Dad and uncle carried the still smoldering chair through the kitchen and out the kitchen door. I remember blubbering something incoherent. Dad had gotten me because I was standing in his chair looking at the night-light. My mother began using soothing words as only a mother can manage. I don't remember what they were, and I suppose that the content was important. What was more important, is that they were working, and I began to relax. Then my Dad came back into the house. His eyes had an angry red tint to them. They reminded me of the flames that had just tried to consume my legs. In that instant, in that one look, I knew what had happened. It didn't matter how many times my mother tried to tell me that it was just a short circuit I knew what happened. I knew that it had been the 'wrath of Dad' that had befallen me that day. What happened next, or more accurately what didn't happen, was totally unexpected. I have my mother to thank for that. My Dad began to rant and rave that I needed to be punished for having tried to burn the house down. It was usually what he did, to work himself up for the most severe punishments. My mother and I were still in the bathroom when he started to remove his belt. This is when my mother turned to face him. In doing so, she blocked the doorway, barring his entrance to the bathroom with her body. In a very calm voice she pointed out that it had been an accident, and that the burns on my legs were punishment enough. What really deflated his anger was when she pointed out that they had been looking for a replacement for that chair for over a month, and that he had been dragging his feet about getting one. She continued, and insisted that he no longer had an excuse to procrastinate, any longer. He must have realized that there was some logic to her argument. By the time he left to go pick up a new chair, the fire in his eyes was gone. That is, if it was ever there at all. An hour later Dad returned with a brand new recliner in the back of the station wagon. The fire was never mentioned again. The way he bragged about the recliner to his friends and family you would have thought that buying it was all his idea and decision. My mother allowed him that lie, knowing that if she reminded him of the fire I would be the one to pay the price. I was lucky. My legs healed without scarring, and the whole incident is nothing but memory, now. I have to add that I never touched 'Dad's chair' again and that the night-light that melted into a useless lump of plastic was never replaced. The years have passed and I now have children of my own. Even now, I cannot help but think back on this innocent childhood accident. The rational adult I've become is certain that it was nothing but a short circuit. However, there is no convincing the scared child that still lives inside of me. He knows, and maybe deep down so do I, that it was the 'Wrath of Dad'. Edited by TeNderLoin ------- The End ------- Posted: 2005-05-20 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------