The fireball engulfed my arm before igniting the fuel canister in my hand. Fearing an explosion, I hurled the burning can into the empty field beside our campsite.
Moments before I had been re-filling the fuel reservoir in our camp stove. The stove was not completely off. A tiny blue flame lingered around the burner. I did not see it. I was a teenager. It is not the most observant period in one’s life.
As I began to pour the fuel, the tiny ring of fire ignited the vapour from the can. I jerked my arm back, splashing cooking fuel up my arm and all over the fuel canister itself. Both objects caught on fire. I hurled the can as far as I could, then tamped out my arm. Thankfully it was just singed. To my surprise the canister did not explode. It merely burbled and melted until it was half destroyed.
Our family collected itself after all the excitement. I was tasked with getting rid of the remaining fuel in and the half-melted canister lying the field. I took the well-worn teenage path of least resistance. I dumped the remaining fuel down the outhouse beside the campsite, then threw the remains of the empty container in the trash.
For some reason unknown to me to this day, I glanced down the hole of the outhouse into which I had just dumped the fuel. An oil slick of cooking gas was forming on top of the cesspool. It was quite distinct, shimmering unmistakably in the depths.
I got my dad. He looked down the outhouse. Then he looked at me. Then he did something I had never seen him do before, or since. He acted quickly.
“Let’s go”, he said, trotting back to the campsite with speed. “Time to pack ‘er up and get on the road”.
Haste and decisiveness were totally foreign to my parents. We normally didn’t get on the road until early afternoon. But on this day we packed up camp and hit the road in 20 record-breaking minutes.
I did not fully grasp the situation. I asked dad what all the rush was about as we sped away from the park. He began to giggle. Then he began to laugh until he almost could not drive.
“Son”, he said. “I want you to imagine what is going to happen the next time some unsuspecting camper goes into the outhouse. Now imagine they have a newspaper and a cigarette. Now imagine what they do with that cigarette once they’re done smoking. Now image what happens next….”
The life lesson dad taught me that day was to speed when fleeing from responsibility.
[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]
Made my day 😂