Photo Illustration by Erin O’Flynn/The Daily Beast/Getty, Courtesy of Pegasus Books
Daddy took the jug inside to the kitchen sink to wash off the grease. I sat in the living room with everyone else. After Daddy finished cleaning his hands, he set the jug, which still had two inches of fuel, on the floor right beside the water jugs. He walked into the living room and took his seat.
“I fixed it,” he said waiting for us to acknowledge and congratulate him on his mechanical prowess. In reality, all he had done was remove the breather and pour gas down the carburetor, but in his mind, it was a feat to be recognized. Everything Daddy did commanded praise, from cooking breakfast to major auto repair jobs like this one. Some he really did outdo himself on; others, not so much. “Is there a game on?”
I walked to the television and grabbed the little pliers. For the third time in four years, we had electricity again, and each short period felt like winning the lottery.