All in a Day

This morning started out just like any other day. Connor woke up around eight-ish, played in bed for awhile until I got around to getting him up for breakfast, and was pretty much his usual happy self. A few hours later, I'd be asking myself where my normal day went.

Since we hadn't gone anywhere together in a while ('cept for lunch with Stacey and a trip to Home Depot the day prior) I decided that we'd go to the playground to kill some time, brain cells and maybe even a little energy. While we were playing (okay, he was playing; I was making a half-assed attempt to look interested) we heard a loud screeching noise followed by what sounded like someone was using a giant hammer to smash my car. Close. It was a pretty bad t-bone + multiple rear-ender wreck on the road next to the playground involving five cars. (One pulled out in front of a line of cars, thus causing the massive pile up.)

The t-boned car was instantly flipped over on its roof due to the energy disspated into its frame from the violent collision. With each subsequent rear-ending of the car that had initially plowed into the first vehicle (you following this at all?) the flipped car got pushed further to the side of the road. When the last car smashed into the line of already crashed cars (this took about four seconds, by the way) the upturned car slid down the hill that separated the playground from the street. I mentioned that we were on the playground, right?

I grabbed Connor out of the swing, and fled for higher ground, even though we had plenty of time to escape as the car was sliding pretty slowly down the muddy embankment. Once the cops arrived, which was all of 45 seconds later since there's a substation just down the street, they weren't as interested in how we were as I thought they might be (maybe it was because the flipped car that was now wedged underneath the jungle gym was leaking gasoline and there were still people inside, but they did want to know exactly what I saw once they finally secured the situation — which took about an hour.

While we waited in one of the six ambulances that also arrived on scene I tried to keep Connor amused by bandaging my head like a mummy and wrapping his entire body in an Ace bandage. (They didn't have any fake blood capsules, that I could find, so I was limited in my entertainment possibilities.)

I couldn't help noticing that one of the EMTs looked really familiar, but I couldn't place him. After not-so-subtley staring at him, it hit me, though it didn't make much sense as to why BURT REYNOLDS (yes, the Bandit himself) would be working as an EMT in northwest South Carolina. He had a pretty rocking beard going on and a different toupee than usual, so most people probably wouldn't have recognized him, but I had an entire hour, unabated, to sit and try and figure out why this guy looked familiar to me.

I guess the look of relief on my face suggested that I had indeed discovered his secret identity. He laughed and walked over to us.

"You're wondering what the hell I'm doing here, huh?"

Yeah, that went without saying. As it turns out, he was researching an upcoming movie role set in very rural America and figured the best way to see low income people at their most honest was to hang out with EMTs and cops. He started talking to me about our experience here. I assumed that when he found out I was from Atlanta and had only lived here for a few months, he'd lose interest. But, our experience seemed like just what he was looking for — that being the culture shock we'd experienced at suddently being uprooted from somewhat urban surroundings and then moving out into the woods surrounded by a bunch of reclusive whiteys.

Once the cops had my statment, I thought it would be best if Connor and I headed home. Apparently Burt (that's what he told me to call him) thought the same thing and tagged along to see our place.

After showing him around (it took all of six seconds as you can see just about everything from the den), I excused myself to put Connor down for a nap. Before I could put him down, though, someone banged on the front door.

As I answered it, I saw a very irate police officer and four cop cars, two ambulances and a fire truck parked about 100 yards away from our house. Apparently, the propane tank of the trailer next door had just ruptured and was in danger of exploding. I grabbed Murphy (the dog) and Burt, Connor, Murphy and I all jumped into the waiting ambulance, as we were ordered to do by the barking officer at my door. As we pulled away, I heard a loud boom and I saw a fireball burst from our neighbors front yard, splintering his trailer. I couldn't see our house, so I had no clue what had happened to it.

Once the police had secured the area (which took about three hours) they told me I could return to our house. Keep in mind, I've been hanging out with Burt Reynolds this entire time. To make me feel better he kept calling his friends — Terry Bradshaw, Johnny Knoxville and Hugh Hefner, among them — and making them talk to me. It was a surreal way to pass the time.

The house, aside from a few missing vinyl siding pieces was okay, so Burt called his acting coach, who was staying in a hotel 30 minutes away, to come pick him up. After giving him some feedback on his most recent film role ("Dude, Dukes of Hazzard? Are you kidding me? You're the BANDIT for cryin' out loud!"), he left.

He said he'd call me with some more questions about our life out here. Plus, his grandson lives nearby in North Carolina and he wants to get a tattoo. I guess mine were as good as any he'd seen, so he wanted me to take his grandson to get tatted. Uh, okay.

Yep, just a regular old day in the life of a stay-at-home dad. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.