When we left Dad to die
Back in the 1970s I was fortunate enough to camp at Carolina Beach State Park several times each summer. It was always fun and carefree, but then again I had never experienced a tropical storm while camping.
As my parents set up the tent, the local radio stations kept talking about this tropical storm that would arrive during the night. Mom wanted to leave, and Dad wanted to stay. Well, Dad won, kinda.
We settled in for the night to a nice breeze and distant lightning. All was good for a few hours. Dad was snoring, and Mom was awake and highly irritated. As the wind got higher, she told him to “get up!” He said, “I like storms. Go to sleep.”
Well, Mom said, “heck with him,” and packed us into the truck. She aimed the headlights toward the tent hoping Dad would get up. Almost immediately, a gust took a few tent poles, and all you could see was a monstrous figure fighting to get out of a tent. The rain began to pour down. Dad was so mad that we “left him to die.” Hilarious now!