A Goodbye.

We were at my Grandfathers cottage on lake Somethingerother, I'm sure I couldn't pronounce it. I was only 4.

"Don't you touch that stove. You hear me?!'

I looked at the stove, I kinda wanted to touch it. I looked back at him.

"You steer clear of that stove. Just stay away from it."

He had my hand and was pointing at the stove. I looked back at the stove. I wonder what it tastes like.

"buh why..."

"JEEEESUS Christ! Just don't even go near it. It's hot. If you go near it... there'll be big trouble mister! I mean it."

He meant it. But... I wonder if this is a 'no cookies before supper' kinda rule. The kind that you like to break, the kind let you break every once in a while. I look back at him blankly.

"You understand? Stay away from it or I'll tan your hide."

"k..."

I walk around the wood pile. bored. I play with some toys. bored. I walk in ever smallers circles following the pattern in the big living room rug. Fun! But I get to the middle and have no where else to go. I look around. bored.

High on the counter I see can of ginger ale. yum. I walk over and stretch to reach. Just out of reach. I put my hand on the stove to give me a little boost.

'PSSSST!'

Uh-oh. I touched the stove. Did anyone see? Boy did that hurt. I don't want to get in trouble. I gotta get away. I put my arms straight down at my sides, head down and escape the scene of the crime. Quickly, I go behind the wood pile and hide. Maybe I'll get away with it. Nobody saw. Boy-o-boy this really hurts.

I look at it.

"uh-oh."

There is a giant shiney red blister the size of my entire plam staring back at me. It's just about the scareyest thing I ever saw in my entire life. I start to cry.

Grandfather comes running. "What's wrong?"

I'm doomed, he's gonna know for SURE. I had to think fast.

"uh spy-doe bited meee..." (sniff, sniff)

"A Spider!? Where?"

I point at the wood pile and wipe my eyes.

"WHERE did it bite you?!"

I sniff and turn over my hand.

"JEEEESUS CHRIST!"

His eyes nearly pop out of there sockets as he looks at this enormous, red, throbbing, blister on my little four year old hand.

"That must've been some Spider! What did the damn thing look like?"

"big an an bwack an an howy an an..."

"How big?

"weowee weowee big..."

He was buying it. Everyone was buying it. I was quite pleased with myself. Now I'm not going to get in trouble. It was pretty touch and go for a while. but it looks like everything is gonna be ok.

In the coming days, while I happily walked in ever smaller circles on that oval in the rug in the living room, I heard a lot of talk about 'Goddamned Spiders' and a few 'Did you see that thing on his hand' and a fruitless search through the woodpile for the monsterous alien spider that could've done that to my hand.

I think he saw me staring at the stove and looking at my hand on too many times, cause one day, he sat me down next to the stove and talking to me, worked the truth out of me inch by inch till I finally came clean soaked in tears. He was proud of me that I told the truth (eventually) So I DIDN'T get in trouble, which I was pretty happy about. I'm sure he figured the burn on my hand taught the lesson.

My Grandfathers funeral is today.



Goodbye Grandfather.


Today's Song of the Day is "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas, recorded in 1951, off the compilation "The Caedmon Poetry Collection."

Crazy Fact: Dylan Thomas died of alcoholism at the age of 39.

njoy