A Father’s Curse

11/19/2008

The time: 1972 or 73

The Place: 101st North, Seattle, WA

One Larry Hardy, young father with 4 fine young sons, is engaged in a bit of home improvement owing to a bit of toilet trouble. After much work with various tools and much colorful language, he manages to extract one Granny Smith apple, with one tiny bite taken out of it. Though this was years before “CSI” introduced America to the exciting world of criminal forensics, Larry decides only a 4 or 5 year old would: A) have such small teeth, B) be dumb enough to try to flush an apple. Young Brian feels the consequences both immediate (a swat to the rear) and long term. Though he’s too busy crying to realize this, he has also been saddled with that most awful of burdens: The Father’s Curse!

Fast forward roughly 35 years.

Brian and Wendi are downstairs watching the delightful movie “Stardust”. Xander is upstairs having been tucked in though he can get up to go pee if necessary. Just pee.

“Dad!....Dad!”

“What?”

“I lost my toothbush!”

“How did that happen?”

“It got flushed!”

(Sigh) “I’ll be right up.”

The next day, I take a trip to Home Depot, then to Shucks (to get the type of flexible grabber the Home Depot Guy recommended), onto Sears (as Shucks was all out of grabbers), then back home to try it. Failing my goal but managing to loosen a good amount of toilet paper  and other even less desirable floaties, back to Home Depot to get a plastic drum auger and a pair of gloves (Holy #$#@! Toilet water’s really cold when it’s 36 degrees outside!) and much, much auguring (is that a word?) while Xander watches and comments on my progress. (Or lack thereof.)

At the point of giving up and admitting defeat, I’m reeling in my line. (Xander made several high-larious fishing jokes during this time) when what do I see but a $3.00 blue and pink SpongeBob Squarepants toothbush. Victory.  

Flex Grab-$7

Auger-$25

SB-SP Toothbrush $3

All the money and time invested pales in comparison to the JOY I will feel, sometime in the 2030s or 2040s, when I hear a story from my son about having spent a $#@*&! day up to his elbows in Arctic poo-water because his Bone-Head of a Child decided to try to destroy the evidence of some crime by giving it a burial at sea.

Let it be noted: On March 29th, 2008, I invoke The Father’s Curse!

I have spoken.