This is an older post but I’m missing my Dad today, so I thought I’d repost it. He was quite a character.
When I was about 10 years old, my grandmother brought me to our local bank to start a Christmas Club account. She thought this would teach me responsibility and character. We went into the bank and sat at the special desk off to the side and I received my Christmas Club coupon book. Each week I would go into the bank with my two dollar deposit. The teller would officially tear out the coupon and record my balance on the inside cover. She always called me Miss Yeager and it became kind of a ritual that made me feel very grown up. Then the incident happened and banking would never feel quite the same.
Late one night my mother woke up when she heard a noise downstairs. She shook my Dad awake. “Ed, I think someone is downstairs!” Dad jumped out of bed and rummaged in the nightstand and found his….gun. He stood at the top of the stairs and yelled “If anybody is down there, you better get out! I have a gun!” I pulled the covers over my head.
He slowly went down the steps. “I have a gun!” he yelled again. He creeped into the family room. He shouted again…I’m coming down and I ‘m ready to use this gun! Nothing there.
The living room. Nothing.
The next room was the dining room off to his right.
He thought “What if this guy is hiding around this corner?” So he slapped the pistol into his left hand and quickly stepped into the dining room.
The sound of a gunshot seemed to fill the house. It felt like even my bed shock. There was a long silence. Dad didn’t move for a long time.. His mind went into slow motion. Was he shot? Was he bleeding? Where the hell was the shooter?
Then he realized he was alone.
Slowly he figured it out. He had accidentally pulled the trigger with his clumsy left hand. He had randomly shot into the dining room.