My Father's Burns Are a Family Legend

 

I don’t know how old my father was when the accident happened. Older than two, I’d say, but younger than five, because he remembered it so clearly. I think he was four, running around his family apartment with his twin brother, and as they say of kittens, into everything.

My father says he reached up to the pot his mother was boiling on the stove; I have no idea why, perhaps the fire underneath the pot attracted him? The next thing he and everyone knew was the pot spilled over onto his chest and he screamed in pain and terror.

I know a doctor was called, but don’t know how long it took to get to my father. As soon as the doctor saw my dad, he knew what he’d have to do: scrape the burning flesh from my father’s chest, while his screams elevated until people on the street outside could hear him.

Read more on Medium: 

https://medium.com/the-narrative-arc/my-fathers-burns-are-a-family-legend-8f2614d447f5