There are actually 7 levels of drinking if you live in a trailer park.
My father used to drink pure grain alcohol.
Our mother would keep a running total in her head and at 5 she would give my sister and I a couple dollars and tell us to run over to the gas station and get some of those drumstick ice cream treats.
Me being the bigger brother I kinda had an idea what was going on because I would come back every now and then and see my mom crying and my dad kinda dazed wondering what was going on.
I didn’t want my sister to get hurt so I kinda played along, but I also didn’t want my mom to get hurt. I felt I was in kind of a bind.
One day, I asked my friend Macy to take my sister to the gas station while I hung back to see if I could help. I hid behind this little toy horse rocker that we kept outside in our “front yard” under our canopy and waited. It wasn’t until I heard some yelling and the sound of glass shattering did I run up the front steps and into our trailer.
I was absolutely horrified to see my mom, stepping over broken glass with her high heels on, lasso in hand, gaze fixed on our ceiling.
I remember in vivid detail my father: arms stretched in a t-pose, levitating above our kitchen table, mouth in a perfect o-shape, the sound like a whale’s bellow as he bonked his head on our chandelier.
I guess I startled my mom because she lost sight of my dad for a split second and he floated out our sunroof and into the night.
I’m 43 now and don’t ever look up. I’m afraid of what I might see.
2 Comments
Absolute classic!!
There are actually 7 levels of drinking if you live in a trailer park.
My father used to drink pure grain alcohol.
Our mother would keep a running total in her head and at 5 she would give my sister and I a couple dollars and tell us to run over to the gas station and get some of those drumstick ice cream treats.
Me being the bigger brother I kinda had an idea what was going on because I would come back every now and then and see my mom crying and my dad kinda dazed wondering what was going on.
I didn’t want my sister to get hurt so I kinda played along, but I also didn’t want my mom to get hurt. I felt I was in kind of a bind.
One day, I asked my friend Macy to take my sister to the gas station while I hung back to see if I could help. I hid behind this little toy horse rocker that we kept outside in our “front yard” under our canopy and waited. It wasn’t until I heard some yelling and the sound of glass shattering did I run up the front steps and into our trailer.
I was absolutely horrified to see my mom, stepping over broken glass with her high heels on, lasso in hand, gaze fixed on our ceiling.
I remember in vivid detail my father: arms stretched in a t-pose, levitating above our kitchen table, mouth in a perfect o-shape, the sound like a whale’s bellow as he bonked his head on our chandelier.
I guess I startled my mom because she lost sight of my dad for a split second and he floated out our sunroof and into the night.
I’m 43 now and don’t ever look up. I’m afraid of what I might see.