When I was still a boy, and Dad’s father, Grandpa Holter was still alive, Dad planned a fishing trip. It was going to be Dad’s last fishing trip with his father, as Grandpa Holter had cancer, and not much longer to live. 

We took a pop up camper, where Dad and Grandpa would sleep, and my brother and I slept in the back of the truck. First night there, Lee and I got sent off to bed, and we heard Dad and Grandpa talking and laughing until the wee hours of the morning. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but around sunrise I heard a loud BOOM and crashing pots and pans. Then I heard Dad and grandpa yelling and cussing up a storm.

Next thing I knew, Dad was at the back of the truck hollering at me, “Bob, gimme my other pants!”

He must have changed right there, because moments later, he threw a pair of smoking polyester shorts in the back of the truck and muttered his way back to the pop up. I held them up, and the only part left of those shorts was a zipper, the waistband, and the back. The entire front of his britches burned off.  I asked him later what happened. He and grandpa argued and yelled the whole trip , each blaming the other for what happened.

Seems grandpa thought he smelled propane, so he (thought) he reached out and turned off the stove. Dad meanwhile, got up a little later, and he (thought) he turned the stove on to make some coffee. Apparently, the cabinet below the stove was nice and full of propane by this point, and when dad lit a match—BOOM! Say goodbye to a loaf of bread, a couple of pots and pans….and Dad’s pants, not to mention,, his dignity. Dad went commando back then.

So, to any of my family reading this- blowing stuff up,, I come by it honestly.

Robert