The 12 Days of Donkmas – Ashes to Ashes

Day 6 – Ashes to Ashes

And speaking of my father, there’s a very good chance that he might have been a closet pyromaniac.  Seriously, hear me out here.  One year, about a week after Christmas, he called me out to the back yard.  Sitting out there was our old dried-up Christmas tree, globs of tinsel still clinging hopefully to its rust-colored needles.  My dad had cleared away all of the dried grass and dog shit so that the tree sat in a lonely patch of dirt; it looked like a  wrongly accused criminal awaiting the gallows.

As we stood there, my pops pulled out a box of matches.  “Now you know that a dry Christmas tree is a dangerous thing, right son?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, I want to demonstrate just how dangerous it can be.  This is a lesson, mind you, in fire safety.”

So he said, but the crazy gleam in his eyes and the rictus grin on his face said otherwise. I wasn’t sure whether he was trying convince me, or himself.

“Now, watch.”

He lit a match and flipped it casually at the poor old tree.  FLOOMP!  That son of a bitch went up faster than Tara Reid’s blood alcohol level at a launch party.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Flames shot ten feet into the air and a wave of heat washed over me that threatened to singe my eyebrows and nipple hairs.  I felt vaguely guilty as I watched the product of so much joy being mercilessly swallowed by the vicious fire.

Don’t try this at home kids

As quickly as it had started, it was over, and all that was left was a smoldering heap of ash and blackened tinsel (like the cockroach, tinsel perseveres through all).  I looked up at my dad, who was staring into the embers in a semi-catatonic state.

“OK son, have you learned a valuable lesson?”

Yes, that my father might be just a touch kooky.  “Um, yeah.”

“Good, you can go now then.”

As I turned and began walking away, he called me back.  “Oh, and son?”

“Yeah?”

He had a conspirator’s smirk on his face.  “No need to tell your mother about this.”