One Dynamite Father's Day--Another Skunky and Me Adventure

One memorable Father's Day happened when I was about 14 years old. It was the time I helped my childhood friend Skunky Wilson surprise his dad with a special gift.

Now, Skunky got his nickname on account of--well, let's just say that when Skunky left home the State's natural gas resources were depleted by one half.

The Wilsons lived on an old farm, and over the years no one had ever taken the time to scrape the cow waste out of the barn. After two or three generations the pile of cow patties began to be a problem--the barn doors wouldn't shut and Mr. Wilson had to duck when entering the building to keep from hitting his head on the door frame.

So, Skunky dialed me up one day to ask if I would help him with his Father's Day gift of removing the patty pile.

"I don't know," I said, "I'm already committed to something else."

"Like what?" Skunky asked.

"Like sitting on the porch with my little brother and watching the grass grow." Hey, anything was better than shoveling out an over-filled barn of manure.

"I've found some dynamite for the job," Skunky said in a sing-song, teasing kind of voice.

"I'll be there!"

In the early hours on the Saturday before Father's Day I met Skunky in front of the Wilson's barn. He stuck a piece of a dynamite stick in the center of the mound of manure and lighted it.

Now, rarely do the minds of 14-year-old boys work in a logical mode. Skunky and I were no exception. It never dawned on us that when the dynamite exploded, all that stuff had to go somewhere. It wouldn't just dissipate into thin air.

We took off running toward the corral gate, just a few yards away. We were almost there when we heard a loud KAAABOOM, followed by a hot blast of stifling air and manure, which swept us up into the air and deposited us against the corral fence.

After peeling ourselves off of the fence, Skunky asked, "Booger [that was me], you all right?"

With a loud ringing in my ears, I shook my head in the affirmative. "But you really should stop banging that bell. It might draw your father's attention and ruin the surprise. By the way, when does the plane land?" I was just a wee bit disoriented.

Well, we gathered ourselves together and sauntered toward the barn to inspect our workmanship. "No need worrying anymore about the barn doors not shutting," I said. They were no longer there.

Entering the building, we were blinded by the bright morning sun. "Yeeeeee haaaaw!" yelled Skunky. "Betcha we're the only family in the county with a sunroof in their barn." Even an idiot couldn't argue with him on that one.

As we stood there a moment, admiring our handy work, we suddenly felt cold, calloused hands-of-steel wrap around our necks--Mr. Wilson! For some reason he none too pleased with his Father's Day gift.