My Dad, A Fire, and a Cracked Rib

First, thank you to everyone who has left comments both on mine and Keith's blogs. It meant a lot to both of us. The blogosphere is so awesome.

My dad came home from the hospital today. He is looking and feeling so much better. Lots of color in his face, walking really well and talking a lot. Obviously, he's still really really tired but the worst is over. Lots of meds to take so I made him a big chart - such a Virgo/dorky thing I know - but he liked it so that's all I care about.

My bro and sis-in-law went back to Tucson yesterday. Keith is in a play and had a performance at noon. They'll be back on Thursday to help out as well.

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We have a lot of family lore that is hysterical but none is as famous as the Great Kitchen Fire of (circa) 1978. Since it's Dad Week, it's only appropriate that I tell this story (with dad's approval of course, plus he's sitting right next to me). Of course, he is the main player.

For many many many years, my dad would get irritated if we brought up this story or told it to others. For us, all we could do is laugh while we told it. About a month ago, I asked dad if I could put it on my blog. He actually laughed a bit and said, "Yeah, but which version are you going to write?" Read on....


One Sunday morning, my mom, brother and I were sitting in the living room watching something on tv. I remember it being after church so we were all in our Sunday best.
My dad used to make these huge Sunday breakfasts. He put some bacon grease in a pan to heat up on the stove (yes, he ate like this for a little while in the 70's but stopped a longg time ago). He forgot about it and took a shower. Note - accounts vary about who put the grease on, my mom or dad...and why my dad took a shower after church..i don't remember him going that morning, just me, mom and keith).


Anyway, the three of us were in the living room when I noticed that the dining room wall was reflecting a flickering orange light from the kitchen. I asked my mom, "Why is the dining room wall orange?" With that, we all ran in the kitchen. The stove was on fire. My mom yelled at me, "GO GET YOUR DAD!"

I ran into their bathroom, opened the shower door and yelled, "DAD, THE STOVE IS ON FIRE!" My dad to this day remembers that part well. Luckily, I don't remember actually seeing him in the shower, whew..eek. What I do recall next is running back into the kitchen and seeing my mom trying briefly to put the fire out with water. Next, my dad comes running through the foyer naked except for a towel and dripping wet.

This is where the family controversy starts:

My memory: Dad hits the slick linoleum floor running, slips and loses his towel in the process and proceeds to slide the length of the kitchen, and slam into the kitchen door with his body. He gets up, yells at my mom for putting water on an oil fire while simultaneously grabbing baking soda and puts the fire out....naked.

Keith: Dad slips and falls, barely slides, gets up, grabs the baking soda and puts the fire out. No recollection of him being naked or yelling at my mom. Violently disputes that he slid all the way across the kitchen floor. Doesn't remember going to church that morning.

Mom: Remembers getting yelled at about the water on the oil fire. Says my dad slid through the foyer, from one end of the kitchen to the other and out the door into the carport naked. Doesn't think we went to church that morning.

Dad: Remembers me seeing him naked in the shower while yelling the stove is on fire and running wet wearing only a towel into the kitchen. He remembers slipping and sliding (but doesn't remember how far) while the three of us stood next to each other watching him slide by us. Doesn't recall yelling at my mom about the water on the oil fire or how he put it out. Maybe it's because he cracked two ribs. Doesn't remember going to church.

So here's the thing. We were all in his hospital room the night before his surgery talking about this. While laughing/bickering about whose story was right, I told everyone I was going to blog about this and have my awesome readers decide. So it's up to you to pick the version you like the most. Whichever one has the most votes will be the official family story.

Tired. Time for bed. Dad and I are going for a walk down the street and back. 30 minutes a day..