The 15 Day Blog Challenge continues with:
Day Four: What’s your favourite childhood memory?
I’m not sure if “favourite” is the right word for this childhood incident, but it’s certainly one of the more memorable of those care-free days of parental embarrassment! It originally appeared on ‘The Voice of Our Song‘; a blog I plan to write again soon.
A few years ago my father attempted to play a practical joke on his uncle. Although the exact details escape me, this practical joke consisted of my father setting up a fake email account in which to respond as a member of the local council in relation to a query my Uncle had asked.
After days of perfecting the email my father sent it and awaited for the inevitable hilarity to ensue.
In all his efforts to write the finest email, my father failed to take into account he needed to put a false name as the ‘owner’ of the email account, instead writing his real name, so when my Uncle received it he knew instantly it was a joke as my father’s name was emblazoned on the screen.
Unfortunately for me, not all of my father’s japes have proved so unsuccessful.
The place, Portlethen.
The year, 1989.
Being the astute boy that I was, by 10am on this Sunday morning I had completed all my weekend homework assignments, deep cleaned my bedroom, mopped the bathroom and kitchen, weeded the vegetable patch and vacuumed the cat.
Now, after a calming bath, I was changing for my next array of chores. Slipping my bathrobe off I deodorized, talced and set about dressing in my usual attire; khaki pants, aged shirt, leather jacket and fedora – what can I say, I was going through an Indiana Jones phase, what ten-year old boy doesn’t?
As I stood in my birthday suit about there was a sudden, deafening, high-pitched beep. I recognized it immediately from the moment, two months earlier, when I had set fire to the couch.
“Four!” I yelped, before correcting myself. “Five!” And with scant regard to the birthday suit I was wearing I bolted out my door screaming the far more apt “FIRE!”
Pounding on my brother’s door to ensure he escaped unsinghed I checked the upstairs rooms before legging down the stairs and rolling 80s action movie style into the downstairs corridor. Suspecting the fire was coming from the kitchen I made sure the downstairs rooms were clear before bolting outside to the prearranged evacuation point.
Skidding onto the damp grass I soon realized no-one else had gathered to watch our house go down in flames so I leaped to the logical conclusion they were inside; possibly unconscious and suffocating.
Breaking into the garage I collected the fire extinguisher and ran indoors, firing a cloud of fire destroying propellant before me.
As the haze cleared all that was revealed were my brother and sister smiling inanely in the kitchen doorway whilst my father perched on a step-ladder beneath the smoke detector he had set off, laughing so hard he threatened to tip himself off the rungs. My mother meanwhile, was upstairs, refusing to partake in such a cruel and humiliating practical joke.
Placing the fire extinguisher gently onto the floor I collected myself and, without a word, marched my nudity back to my room.