February 05, 2008
Two turds in the doghouse
Originally published December 20, 2003
Quinton set the woods behind my house on fire today.
Actually, HE didn't do it. Hillary "borrowed" a cigarette lighter from her mama's bedroom drawer and the bunch of wild hellions started a "campfire" in my back yard. I saw what they were doing and I told Quinton that he was in charge. I didn't mind them having a campfire, but I expected him to take care of it. "You've seen me build a fire 100 times," I told him. "You know what to do."
I believed that he did. He didn't.
He and Jack became distracted when the wind blew up their asses and took their brains away. They went off to shoot a basketball and left Jack's little sister Kiley around the fire. I'm still not sure what happened next, because after I put out the fire (with the help of a very alert and polite neighbor, who jumped his fence with a shovel in his hand when he saw me battling the blaze), finger-pointing went everywhere.
"Kiley threw burning sticks into the woods!"
"Jack was supposed to put the fire out!"
"Hillary was supposed to be watching Kiley!"
I cut through all the bullshit. I sent the girls home and told the boys to get their butts into the house. I sat them down and administered a tounge-lashing that I wish I had recorded. I talked about responsibility and trust, disappointment and anger. I told them that I expected more from them than what I saw today. I told them that a moment of carelessness such as what they displayed could have burned down somebody's home and landed me in jail. I waxed eloquent.
By the time I was finished, Quinton was crying and Jack was as shrunk-up as a spider on a hot stove. I then banished them to Quinton's room until I decide to let them out of prison. They are suffering horribly in there, playing video games, but I believe that I got my point across.
Got-dam. They almost fucked-up badly today.
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