Sadly, this is a true story.

It happened in Fridley, Minnesota.

The Explosion

When I was younger, maybe eight, my father made a mistake. A huge mistake, one that never affected our family, but changed the lives of another. My sister Tami was babysitting me for a night. I remember her falling asleep on the couch, face halfway buried into a pillow. It was dark outside, and I could hardly see the next door neighbor’s giant tree in the front yard. I was up, as usual, running around acting like a child usually does when left alone. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the floor shook, the windows rattled and I heard what sounded like a giant falling to the ground. An explosion!

I shook my sister awake, more amazed then I was scared. She sat up groggily, and I explained in simple words what had just happened. She slurred a reply and stayed up for a few minutes longer. Soon, though, she was back asleep. I began to play, possibly with one of our cats or our dog, and forgot about what had happened only minutes before.

But it was as if Paul Bunyan’s fight with Babe had started over (1), and I felt my body jolt from another explosion, and my ears rang. I ran to my sister once more, and woke her up with a scream. This time she sat up faster, and looked out the window. She had missed it again. I was worried now, and my thoughts travelled fast through all the possibilities. Were we being attacked? Was it like all those scary movies my father had watched? People lying bloody on the ground, planes flying through the air dropping what looked like fat pencils, sirens flaring, and fire streaming through the air.

Nothing else happened that night, and I’m sure I went to my bed, hid under a thick cover of blankets until sleep took me over.

Now, I’m not sure if it was the next day or the next week, but my father told me the explosions were caused by faulty propane tanks.

He had found a bunch in a garage sale.

He had bought them, to find out that they didn’t work.

He put them on the side of the road.

They were taken by people who lived a block away from us.

No one was hurt.

Thier house was destroyed.

Smoke marked the edges, burned possetions were taken out and set on the grass.

They never found their dog.

And I am grateful, because my room was right above the garage.

Xxx

Now that I am older, I look back at this story and wonder why nothing had ever happened to my dad. Why they wouldn’t come to him, sue him, put him in prison.

Maybe there’s a detail that I’m missing. Maybe he set them at the park. He’s my dad and that DOES sound like something he would do.

Now, dad buys all his tanks new, and I have a fear of anything of the sort.

Silly memories.

(1) Paul Bunyan is from a folk-tale from Minnesota, where I live. He was a giant that cut down trees, but was out-run by the modern machine. His epic fight with his equally giant ox (Babe) was said to have created the 10,000+ lakes that Minnesota is known for. :) Look it up, I lie not.