You wondered what it would be like
to scrape all the gunpowder
off those boxes of sparklers.
You wondered what it would be like
to make a little mound of sparkler dust
and set it alight.
As the dusk became starry,
you struck up the match,
set it against the white pyramid
on the concrete back patio.
You never imagined how quick,
how bright the blaze would sizzle,
a signal fire to the family room
where your parents watched television
unawares.
In panic, you looked about
for something to douse the conflagration;
certainly the mower’s gas can close by
wasn’t going to be any help.
Fearful of the wrath to come,
you used the only thing you had,
and put out the sparkling fire
with your bare hands.
The blaze died swiftly,
and you hoped that would be the end of it,
you hoped you had sidestepped retribution.
But …
the blossom of pain in your right hand,
the chosen hand, first to the flames,
grew and grew.
You knew enough to run burns under cold water,
but it only helped a little.
Soon you realized that you needed help;
that no punishment could match this pain.
You sheepishly,
meekly went to Mom and Dad,
still unawares,
watching television in the family room.
There was no yelling,
no scolding,
no hands laid upon you in any way.
Your father took you to the E.R.,
and you became a firework statistic.
Once more,
you were never scolded;
no one ever pointed out how stupid you were,
even though your hand took a long time to heal,
the entire palm blistering,
wrapped in bandages,
for the better part of a month.
In his own way,
rescuing you in danger,
sitting beside you in the hospital,
saying nothing …
… you realized your father really did love you.
_______
I can’t remember exactly when this happened to me; I might have been eight or ten. My father was of that older generation whose love was tied up in a kind of stoicism, duty, and rescue. He was always there, yet somehow not. There were other times when we connected, particularly over music, but I think back on this experience, or when he leaped in to rescue me from a scorpion I uncovered, with particular fondness.