Dad--the lawnmower is in the swimming pool.
Posted: Sat Aug 26, 2006 5:25 am
I have an older brother, Lars. He is a highly successful businessman who owns a constuction company. He functions normally in the business world. But here at home, he is a flaming a**hole. I still think Mother should have knocked him in the head when he was born and saved everyone else the trouble.
I say this mostly because I like to think that I'm the only normal kid that our parents had. At least I'm not an a**hole like Lars.
Lars technically has two sets of kids, the oldest three who were a set of triplets from his German girlfriend that he met in his Army days, when all US soldiers were sent to West Germany for awhile. Then he married a wonderful woman a few years later and they had four more. Lars is a tightfisted, controlling old curmudgeon and I have no idea why his wife stays with him. If I had been born a woman in this life and married Lars, I would have gone out to buy a loaf of bread and never came back. Years ago.
My brother's last two boys are still at home and they spend a lot of time with my youngest two sons. They're like a band of brothers.
All four of these boys are working for Lars and Karl, my other brother. A couple weeks ago, one of Lars' sons got a bit rambunctious with one of those pneumatic nailgun machines while working roofing a new house and nailed Lars' foot to the plywood. Apparently it involved a lot of drama at the time, what with my nephew Chris having to run down a ladder to find a crow bar to pry his father's foot loose from the roofing. I said that he should have just left him nailed to the roof and came home.
Naturally Lars failed to follow my professional advice and continued to go to work on the injured foot. He calls last week to tell me that his foot his extremely swollen and red, he's in excruciating pain and would I do something about it.
So now Lars is home laid up with the foot, I'm going over there twice a day to administer intravenous antibiotics and threatening him daily with a nasty case of osteomyelitis if he doesn't stay off his feet.
Erik calls me yesterday, his voice filled with panic.
"Dad, get over here!!"
"Where are you?"
"I'm over here at Uncle Lars. He's on the warpath!"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, NOW what?
"Uhhh, get over here. Hurry."
I rush over to my brother's house. Apparently all four of the boys got the bright idea to play a new form of paintball while riding lawn mowers and four wheelers. They were tearing around the whole general area, going like hell, while simultaneously popping each other with their paintball guns. Erik and John, my own sons, know that I don't like them playing paintball simply because I've seen some bad injuries in my line of work. At least they were wearing paintball helmets.
It must require a certain amount of skill to operate a lawn tractor in fourth gear AND shoot at your cousins, because Chris drove his father's new Husgvarna 42 inch cut lawn tractor into their swimming pool.
I arrived JUST in time to see Lars rise up like Lazarus, coming out the house to survey the damage. Oh Jesus. He's getting around on a walker, or a Zimmer frame, as it's called in Europe.
When he sees the lawn tractor in the pool, Lars if frothing at the mouth. His eyes are bulging out of his head. He is almost apoplectic. I'm waiting for the skin to split on his skull.
The kids take off on foot and Lars chases the nearest offender, his other son, Mattias, and seeing that he can't catch him, hobbling on his bum leg, he FLINGS the walker frame at the kid and it misses and hits the dog. The dog is wondering what the hell he did; the dog turns and gives Lars a dirty look. By this time, I'm dying of laughter, and Lars turns his wrath on me because I'm laughing at the whole scene. I have the ability to find humor in certain situations. Lars does not.
So I spent the afternoon helping the kids get the tractor out of the pool. All in all, a swimming pool is a nice place to spend a hot afternoon, even if it does contain a lawn tractor.
I say this mostly because I like to think that I'm the only normal kid that our parents had. At least I'm not an a**hole like Lars.
Lars technically has two sets of kids, the oldest three who were a set of triplets from his German girlfriend that he met in his Army days, when all US soldiers were sent to West Germany for awhile. Then he married a wonderful woman a few years later and they had four more. Lars is a tightfisted, controlling old curmudgeon and I have no idea why his wife stays with him. If I had been born a woman in this life and married Lars, I would have gone out to buy a loaf of bread and never came back. Years ago.
My brother's last two boys are still at home and they spend a lot of time with my youngest two sons. They're like a band of brothers.
All four of these boys are working for Lars and Karl, my other brother. A couple weeks ago, one of Lars' sons got a bit rambunctious with one of those pneumatic nailgun machines while working roofing a new house and nailed Lars' foot to the plywood. Apparently it involved a lot of drama at the time, what with my nephew Chris having to run down a ladder to find a crow bar to pry his father's foot loose from the roofing. I said that he should have just left him nailed to the roof and came home.
Naturally Lars failed to follow my professional advice and continued to go to work on the injured foot. He calls last week to tell me that his foot his extremely swollen and red, he's in excruciating pain and would I do something about it.
So now Lars is home laid up with the foot, I'm going over there twice a day to administer intravenous antibiotics and threatening him daily with a nasty case of osteomyelitis if he doesn't stay off his feet.
Erik calls me yesterday, his voice filled with panic.
"Dad, get over here!!"
"Where are you?"
"I'm over here at Uncle Lars. He's on the warpath!"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, NOW what?
"Uhhh, get over here. Hurry."
I rush over to my brother's house. Apparently all four of the boys got the bright idea to play a new form of paintball while riding lawn mowers and four wheelers. They were tearing around the whole general area, going like hell, while simultaneously popping each other with their paintball guns. Erik and John, my own sons, know that I don't like them playing paintball simply because I've seen some bad injuries in my line of work. At least they were wearing paintball helmets.
It must require a certain amount of skill to operate a lawn tractor in fourth gear AND shoot at your cousins, because Chris drove his father's new Husgvarna 42 inch cut lawn tractor into their swimming pool.
I arrived JUST in time to see Lars rise up like Lazarus, coming out the house to survey the damage. Oh Jesus. He's getting around on a walker, or a Zimmer frame, as it's called in Europe.
When he sees the lawn tractor in the pool, Lars if frothing at the mouth. His eyes are bulging out of his head. He is almost apoplectic. I'm waiting for the skin to split on his skull.
The kids take off on foot and Lars chases the nearest offender, his other son, Mattias, and seeing that he can't catch him, hobbling on his bum leg, he FLINGS the walker frame at the kid and it misses and hits the dog. The dog is wondering what the hell he did; the dog turns and gives Lars a dirty look. By this time, I'm dying of laughter, and Lars turns his wrath on me because I'm laughing at the whole scene. I have the ability to find humor in certain situations. Lars does not.
So I spent the afternoon helping the kids get the tractor out of the pool. All in all, a swimming pool is a nice place to spend a hot afternoon, even if it does contain a lawn tractor.
Well I thought it was funny!