LIW&B Chapter 6 (ending)

Mel understood everything. The gravity of the moment crushed the haze around his thought. It was a brilliant orchestration of events that required weeks of planning and it was done by a 4 year old. Sparing the lives of these detestable animals drove him to such lengths. Mel was speechless. He had to sit down.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"
Mel waved him off, "Hold on, Happy, just give Daddy a second to think."

The old man tore between love and fear. He could feel the impact of his decision. It would be life changing for the boy. Mel wanted to nurture Happy's instincts for love and value of life, but he couldn't leave him vulnerable. The boy had to be tough in this world, but maybe not as tough as Mel had to be at his age. The old man did his best to avoid considering the consequences if he made the wrong decision. His toughest part as a parent was holding permanent influence. Mel had made a lot of wrong decisions in his life. How could he guide another?

A flash of primal forgiveness opened the old man to actually driving with Happy outside of town and releasing the rats somewhere. Hell, maybe he could even bring his poles and teach the boy to fish! The flash passes as flashes do and Mel returned to reality.

Mel had looked at rats as mean, treacherous animals and saw no purpose for rodents in general. Close to thirty years living in a junkyard made rats enemies for life. He'd never be able to look at them like his son. They were dangerous. It had to be made clear to the boy without stifling his spirit.

Mel looked up from thoughts and faced his son. "We're not driving them to the country," he said.
The crack of Happy's excitement broke his heart. It was visible as pouring water on flames, extinguishing his smile.
"Why not?" Happy cried.
"Because we can't Happy," Mel struggled to be gentle, "These are dangerous animals. If you jumped in the box with them they'd try to eat you!"
Happy hung his head and weeped quietly. Mel grabbed his shoulders, unable to stand the guilt.

"Not all animals are your friends, Happy," Mel warned. "Not all people are either." Mel thought of Happy's arrival in his truck cab all those years ago.
"What ya did here, son, it's amazing. I can't say how proud and happy I am to be your dad." Happy faced his father with tears streaked on his cheeks.
"But these rats will never place nice," Mel lectured. "And takin' them to the country won't change how mean they are. They'll just be mean to somebody else."

The rats squeaked at their mention. Happy's mouth was straight. The old man felt he was getting through what he wanted.

"I can't spoil ya and make ya think we can save all these rats, Happy. I'm gonna kill 'em all, but I won't make you watch." Mel waited for more tears that came fewer than he thought.
"And I won't make you watch again," Mel promised. "You proved to me how much it means to ya."
Mel pulled his son in for a hug. Happy buried his face in the old man's shoulder and finished his crying. It wasn't long before he pulled back with a last request.
"Don't kill 'em near row 6. That's where they came from," Happy pleaded.
"I won't," Mel agreed. "I'll take 'em the other way."

Mel stood up and told the boy to go inside. He picked up the box and put it in the bed of his truck. He drove to the east side of the yard and unloaded, proceeding to grab a shovel and bury the rats alive in fill dirt. He was smiling the entire time.

Afterward, Mel sat in truck for a long time thinking of a way to make it up to his son. He felt the lingering effect might do more damage than good. Happy had received nothing from the negotiation. Finally, the perfect idea hit him and he sped back to the trailer to pick up his son.

Mel and Happy drove into town to find the Humane Society and brought home two litters of cats.

LIW&B Chapter 6

Mel allowed the boy's development to progress slowly. He endured a great deal of guilt over the sadness he forced into the eyes of his son. Mel knew with every bone in his body he did the right thing, but it ate at him in a way he had never known. Parental guilt ached more painfully than a hangover. This poison foreign and he longed for an antidote.

Happy was a very bright child. Thanks to his tireless television teacher, he knew how to count and spell his name before most children enter preschool. Mel insisted on nothing but public television from morning until dinner, normally late afternoon. Education was important, but not as important as staying hidden. Mel felt certain Happy would be taken if a school learned about his circumstances.

Mel wanted to keep Happy in the trailer safe and ignorant of the rats. It just wasn't realistic. Rats were a part of their lives, nothing from which they could run. Sheltering the boy would only make him more vulnerable later. This was a fact, but the fact added no relief in the eyes of Mel's distraught son.

So Mel let Happy keep his eyes shut tight when he had to kill a crippled survivor. He let him drop the body bag and cover his eyes when a dying rodent screamed for mercy. Mel let Happy block out the violent images as much as he could for months. And it only got worse.

Happy became sluggish and depressed on days of the hunt. Mel's lively, loving Happy dragged and fell into stress and sadness. What was a loose bliss in their home became a heavy depression and silence. Mel couldn't take it. Something had to be done.

He made Happy open his eyes. Then he made him empty the trap into the bag. Both tasks were met with subdued panic. Each time Mel explained his intentions. Improvement was slow but steady. After three months on the hunt, Mel forced Happy to kill his first survivor.

Mel held the scraper above Happy's hands. He made sure Happy had a tight grip.
"I'm not doing all this work. This is your job," Mel ordered.
Happy did better than his father thought. He didn't cry, only wore an angry frown that disturbed his father even more. Happy put his small hands on the wooden pole handle of the scraper and counted out loud, "1, 2, 3."
Both father and son plunged the steel blade downward with all their might and one less rat occupied the yard. Mel hugged the boy both before and after. Happy never cried, but he never forgot. His intelligence included a great memory, the fresh vast mind of a 4 year old boy. And he remembered something his father said on their very first hunt.

Mel suspected nothing. He was pleased to see Happy lighten up. The good times returned. Killing a rat did the trick for both of them. The little things like emptying traps meant nothing. Happy didn't flinch when a rat screamed or hissed at Mel, cursing their fate. He still stiffened when Mel had to deliver the final blow, but everything else was approached with ease. He was satisfied and felt redeemed as a parent.

There was no reason to raise an eyebrow with Happy's increased demand for pancakes. The boy started to ask for them at dinner. It was either baloney sandwiches or pancakes. Mel had no problem. Pancakes took a little more effort, but he was normally drunk in the evening anyway. Many drunken songs were sang while flipping hot cakes in butter. This is also why the old man didn't notice the increase in pancake consumption. He was too drunk to remember.

Mel found it peculiar when his son was asking for a bottle of syrup every couple days. It wasn't until the third request that he put up a fight.
"You've been going through a helluva lot of syrup lately," Mel announced.
"I had pancakes every time we ate this week," Happy proudly answered.
The old rubbed his throbbing head. It was early, just after breakfast. He couldn't gather if the boy was right, but figured Happy would know better than himself.
"Every time?" Mel worried. "Well, tonight you're eatin' some baloney. You need something for your muscles."
The old man grabbed his truck keys and they drove to buy more syrup.

Ten days of planning and storage felt like an eternity for the boy. Ten bottles of syrup lie in a box under his bed. Happy waited for his moment like any great maestro. His father had said he wished he could catch the rats without hurting a thing. Happy had been hypnotized by the challenge.

Mel drove to the tavern leaving Happy in the trailer. He wouldn't begin taking his son to the tavern until he closer to ten. The sun was almost down. It was time for the rats to reclaim the yard. It was a time Mel had warned his son was too dangerous to trespass. After Mel's truck drove away, Happy ran to the stove and began to melt butter.

Happy pulled the box from under his bed and carried it outside. He unscrewed each lid from each syrup bottle and turned them upside down to drain back into the box. It was a 4 foot by 4 foot cardboard box top that stood about 10 inches when set flat on the ground. It only required six bottles to fill the box to the height he wanted, but Happy dumped in two more just to be safe. Then he poured in the melted butter and mixed his friendly glue.

Happy grabbed the flashlight, put on Mel's boots, gloves, and a coat and started to make tracks towards row 15. The box was heavy once full. His progress was slow. Happy could feel eyes watch him from the piles of trash. Thousands of noses twitched to the scent of pancakes.

Happy couldn't hold the flashlight and pull the box at the same time. He moved in the darkness which thickened by the minute. He could pull the box about twenty feet before he would stop to rest. The abrasive grind of the box against asphalt filled the air and then would stop suddenly to be replaced by the sound of tiny footsteps. These footsteps would stop a second later after discovering their exposure. Happy would catch his breath fast to this sound.

Every time he stopped to rest, the approaching footsteps would move further before stopping. They were getting closer to the scent, growing more bold. Or was Happy just getting further from home and more helpless? He made it to row 6 before the army charged.

It started with a lone soldier, a long black rat with white spots. The rat was fat, an experienced hunter. He had long watched Mel from the shadows shoveling his kin. Happy had just stopped to rest when the rat burst from the dark and jumped on the box.

Happy screamed, grabbing the flashlight and turning it on the spy. The rat stopped in the light, unsure of what it meant. When the rodent felt no pain, he only twitched his nose and dove over the side into the sweet thick aroma of buttered syrup. Happy stepped forward and shined the light over the rat to check his progress. This time the rat didn't bother to break his focus. His neck was thrust downward into the sugary trap.

Happy smiled feeling the pride of a mathematician. He stood captivated, watching the rat lap up his bait. More footsteps could be heard. Happy straightened and shined his light over the box. An army of rats screeched to a halt and twitched their noses in its ray. Happy ran before they did. But he heard them start running. It was a sound he would always remember. The rats ran no further than the cardboard buffet. Happy knew enough of the yard to navigate home without passing it on the way back.

Happy barely contained his excitement when Mel returned home. The old drunk paid no mind to missing butter. He ate a baloney sandwich and fell asleep in front of the TV. His son was waiting patiently before him when he woke. Happy looked like a kid waiting to open Christmas presents.

"Good morning, Happy," the old man croaked. He snarled like a reptile first thing in the morning. "What's going on?"

Happy had already been out that morning. His timing has assured that along with Mel's trip to the tavern. The old man would sleep until mid morning, all the time Happy needed to check his trap. He wanted to show Mel what he had done. He wanted to show his father his success!

"Come out on the porch, Daddy," Happy pleaded, "It's a surprise!"

Mel had lived a long life full of surprises. He had no expectation of his son. When the old man opened the trailer door and saw a box of full of a hundred or more live, fattened rats squirming helplessly, his first instinct was to jump back in fear. He braced the boy and pushed him back into the trailer.
"The rats can't get us, Daddy,"Happy assured, "I trapped them!"

The rats were stuck in the dried, sticky syrup. Some rats had yellow splotches on their rotten hair from condensed butter. Some shrieked. Some chattered. Most just lie there, fat and defenseless. None were hurt and they were all alive.
The substance of the catch didn't absorb immediately. Mel was still a bit drunk from the tavern. His eyes welled with alcohol tears and beaming pride at the breakthrough in his son's fear of rats. He couldn't fathom how Happy had done it or when. He had built a giant glue trap and hunted a better catch than the old man ever had. Mel looked down at his son again to confirm he was only 4.

"Happy," Mel started, but his son cut him off.
"I trapped them all without hurting or killing them," Happy said, "Just like you wanted."
Mel blinked his eyes and sunk his neck in doubt. "Like I wanted?"
"Yeah," Happy agreed, "You said you wished you could drive all the rats to the country and set them free. Now we know how to do it!"

Mel stood silent as his bruised brain fit the pieces together. The puzzle was complex enough that the old man had to sit down on the steps. He picked up the box of rats and set them at the bottom of the stairs. The scent of pancakes tickled his nose. Mel noticed the syrup for the first time. He rubbed his throbbing head and spoke out loud.

"Is that syrup in the box?" Mel asked his son.
"Yeah Daddy," Happy answered, "That's what keeps the rats stuck. And I mixed butter with it, just like eating pancakes."
Mel took his hands away from his head. "So that's what all the bottles of syrup were for!"
"Yeah Daddy," Happy admitted shyly. "I hope you're not mad."
"Mad?" Mel felt shocked, "I'm amazed! I can't believe you did this! How did you know?"
Happy smiled showing his crooked dangling teeth. "I just knew I needed something sticky so I thought of pancakes and syrup. They're better when they're more warm and buttery."

The rats seemed to become more lively after the box was moved. Mel and Happy stood and looked into the box, both in awe of the event. The rodents made noise but they were still trapped. The boy engineered their prison well.

"I, I can't believe it," Mel released. "I don't know what to say."
"Do you like it?" Happy asked.
"Yeah, I like it," Mel laughed, "It's great! I didn't think you could pull something like this off."
Mel hugged his son and laughed some more. He coughed and hacked and caught his breath, not able to escape his age for the moment.

Happy pulled away and came back to his main concern.
"And we can go to the country and set them free!" Happy cheered. "That's the best part!"
Mel looked away from the box and to his son, beginning to understand. "Huh, what do you mean, Happy?"
"You said if we could trap them without hurting them you'd drive them to the country. Let's go!" Happy waited breathlessly for his reward.



Sorry folks I have to stop. I'm drained. This is almost over but I can't finish tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

LIW&B Chapter 5 (part two)

It was October and the morning air felt like it. Breath was visible but only through a cough or scream. Mel wrapped an old pair of his work boots around Happy's feet and had to tie the straps behind his calves to fit them securely. Their feet would be the most vulnerable. He couldn't take any chances. The junkyard lay vacant except for an old man, his son, and ten thousand rats.

Mel checked his watch as they entered the parking lot. They were behind his schedule by ten minutes. He wanted to leave at 4 and get a full hour of prime active rat time.

"Can I hold the flashlight?" Happy asked.
"Shhhh!" Mel said loudly. "You have to whisper! The rats will scatter if they hear us comin'!"
"OK," Happy whispered, "Can I hold the flashlight?"
Mel considered and handed it over. He couldn't deny such a simple pleasure.

Mel walked slowly, taking quiet steps. Happy followed the example. The junkyard consisted of a central road which entered from the highway and passed by Mel's trailer and extending two miles past to a dead end. Off this central gravel road were several branches of dirt roads that were bordered by high walls of garbage and junk. These were the junk rows. Mel had organized the entire yard by row numbers. Their trailer lay in a gap between rows 8 and 9. They were walking to row 15. There was always action in row 15.

Mel carried a rake and an steel sidewalk scraper. The blade could slice a rat in two and had done so in the past. Mel was ready for war. Now that he was on the march he wondered why he had worried. Happy bounced in bliss beside him, shining the flashlight in spinning circles at their feet.

The stars popped crisply in the clear sky. No wind blew and the world held silent as the hunting party entered row 15. As Mel figured, they heard scattering feet before they even turned the corner. Happy caught a rat in his flashlight about half a foot long. The excited boy broke into a run which the old man barely caught. He had to drop his scraper to grab his arm and grew furious at the danger.

"Goddamn it Happy!" he yelled in whisper, "These aren't puppies! These are rats and they'll bite you as sure as smell you. Stay by my side!"
"I'm sorry, Dad," Happy apologized.
"Whisper goddammit!" Mel scorned.
"I'm sorry," Happy whispered.
"Well, OK," Mel forgave, "I know you're all excited, but you can't be runnin' off. One of them rats will eat ya!"

Happy stepped back, shocked, "Eat me?"
"Yeah," Mel assured, "There's some big enough to eat a boy. Sure thing."
The look of excitement left his son's eyes and he tugged on his father's coat.
"I didn't know they could eat people," Happy whined, "Can they eat bears too?"
Realizing the box he opened, Mel slammed it shut.
"No they can't eat no damn bears!" Mel asserted quietly. "And those kind of rats ain't around here anyhow. They're in the jungle down in some other country."

Mel put his finger to his lips and pleaded, "Just keep quiet and hold that flashlight. Or else we ain't gonna catch no rats."
Happy nodded in agreement, "Yes, Daddy, I'll keep quiet."
Mel nodded back and moved forward. They scanned the rest of row 15 but it was too late. The commotion had driven all the rats away and alerted them all to their presence. And the traps in row 15 were empty, no rat, no bait. The rats were smart in row 15. This happened a lot. The first close encounter happened in row 17. The rats weren't as smart there.

Mel could hear the rat struggling before Happy turned the light on it. The old man shut his eyes for a second, bracing for the pain he would deliver. Happy would be taking a step toward manhood, more of a shove than a step.

The rat squealed when it sensed the humans. The rat was soiled black, gray if hosed off, about eight inches long without the tail, a sizable rat no one would want to face in the daylight. Happy cast the flashlight over it and pulled it away almost as fast.

"It's hurt, Daddy!" Happy whispered with dire concern.
Mel looked down and patted his shoulder. "Shine the light back on it, Happy. I know he's hurt."

Happy did as he was told. Mel stepped forward. "Stay there and keep the light on him," Mel instructed, "No matter how bad it gets."

The rat squealed louder and in frequent broken chirps. Mel felt certain he was calling for backup. Mel lifted the scraper and angled it above the rat. The rat knew what was coming. He let out a final scream to pierce their sleep. Mel heard Happy beginning to sob, but the light held steady. Mel held the scraper in both hands and jammed it down into the rat, the trap, the earth.

When the rat continued to struggle and shriek, Mel lifted the scraper again, less high and aimed into its neck. The shrieking and movement stopped. The flashlight fell.

"Happy, what are you doing?" Before Mel finished, the boy was at his side hugging his waist. The old man kept one hand on the scraper and put one on his son. "Happy, pick up the light!"
Mel felt real concern to leave themselves open and vulnerable, nothing life or death, but definitely nasty.

Happy buried his face in the old man's pant leg. Mel moved as gracefully as he could. He stepped over to the fallen flashlight and ordered Happy to pick it up. Happy didn't budge. The old man only felt his pant leg further dampen.

"Look, Happy," Mel explained, "I know it ain't pretty, but that's what huntin' is. You go out and kill things. There's nothin' else you can do. Otherwise these bastards would be fillin' up our house! I gotta set traps!"
Happy pulled his swollen face out of the pant leg and looked up, "You killed him! You cut his head off!"
"His back was broken! He was dead already!" Mel realized he was arguing in the dark. "Pick up the goddamn flashlight!" he yelled. Thousands of fleshy feet could be heard scurrying as Happy hopped down and grabbed the light.
Happy held the light back on the bloody mess that had been a struggling rat mere moments ago.

"Sure, I'd rather invite all these rats to climb in the back of my truck and take 'em all out into the country to live in a wide open field with berries and corn and all kinds of shit to eat," Mel continued, "But all these rats know is to eat and multiply. They ain't leavin' alive. There's just no way, Happy. This is all we can do."

Happy stood silent and held the light on the bloody body. Mel watched him. Happy didn't meet his gaze.
"You all right?" Mel asked. Happy didn't answer.
"You all right?" Mel repeated louder. This time Mel moved to the boy and put his arm around him. "I hate gettin' loud with you, Happy. I wanted this to be a better experience."

"I'm scared," Happy admitted.
"Scared? There ain't nothin' to be scared of. This rat's dead. That's the whole point. We kill them. They're scared of us!" Mel smiled, trying to rouse some cheer.
Happy look up and met his gaze. That was enough for Mel.

Mel pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and walked back to the trap. This time he used the scraper as a crowbar to pry the lead clip off the rat's severed torso. He used his boot to push the corpse off the trap. Happy dropped the flashlight again when the clip slammed back down on the trap with a bang. This time he picked it up very quickly.

Mel held the bag with the body out for his son to take. Happy backed away until his father raised his tone.
"Take the bag, Happy!" Mel demanded, "It's something you have to do!"
Happy took the bag and shut his eyes tight, tears emerging from both.
Mel lowered his volume, "Open your eyes Happy. It'll get less scary."
Happy moved slowly, but Mel waited. Mel took the flashlight from the boy. All he held was the bag. Happy opened his eyes and looked downward to the sagging lifeless lump.

"It's dead," Mel comforted. "It can't hurt you."
Happy stood and eased. Mel grew warm with satisfaction. Happy stood quiet for a long time.

"I wish you didn't have to kill it," Happy finally broke.
Mel tensed with displeasure, but treaded carefully, "Yeah, I do too, Happy." Mel stepped forward and put an arm around his son, scanning their perimeter with the flashlight while he moved.
"I wish I could catch 'em all without hurtin' a thing, but they just ain't gonna sit for it."
Mel took the boy's hand and moved forward. Happy picked up the rake and followed.

They continued in the yard until sunrise, finding random corpses in traps, but none alive and struggling as the first trauma. Happy was quiet but willing. It was enough for Mel to continue taking Happy with him, not every day, but two or three times a week. Mel hoped the boy grew strong from the experience. He hoped it wouldn't leave a scar.

LIW&B Chapter 5 (part one)

Mel Stotch was no gourmet chef, but could cook well when he wanted to put forth the effort. Mel could grill burgers. He ate a lot of burgers, almost as many burgers as boloney sandwiches. Sometimes he spent the effort on his specialty, Beer Can Chicken, his traditional birthday meal. Mel had a few recipes for chili, some with pork sausage and bacon, but that was too much fuss for a single old man. There was no reason to spend the money on a meal like that, not just for himself. Mel liked simple, burgers and baloney sandwiches. He didn't have much practice cooking for a child. Through trial and error and vomit they arrived at one masterpiece Happy grew to love as his favorite, pancakes.

Mel served pancakes with lots of syrup and butter and that's how Happy liked them. Mel had mixed up batter and flipped pancakes since he was a child. Many hungover mornings absorbed easier when the old man took the time. When he took the time, he took it very seriously.

"Ya gotta put your elbows into mixing this batter. No clumps or holes, keep it smooth," he would growl to his young son. And go easy on the flour! It's a pancake not a pansteak! If you can't cut it with the fork, it's not edible. Sometimes you pour some syrup on there and let it soak in to soften up. If you still can't cut it with the fork, send it back." Mel felt good to brag.

Breakfast was served between 8-9, depending on when the old man woke up. Occasionally, it could push 10 if the rum went down too easily the night before. After breakfast, Mel would walk the dump grounds cleaning his rat traps. This would last a few hours while Happy stayed at home for his daily lessons. The teacher was never absent and had 6 channels, although two of them came with heavy static. Mel would come home just after noon. He'd fix the boy some lunch, normally baloney and cheese, and have a nip or two. Then Mel and Happy would sit in the trailer, enveloped in nicotine clouds and waves of stale air. They would watch TV, mostly cartoons and kid's shows. Mel could watch anything when he was drunk.

This was their routine and both had grown very fond of it. The only major change for Mel was not going to the track in the afternoon. But he learned to appreciate the money that wasn't lost on horses. He learned to appreciate staying home to raise a child. This was their routine and their life.

Trucks would dump from 6am until late afternoon, but this didn't require Mel's presence. They were giving not taking. And Mel had nothing to take. He had garbage. No one wanted that. Except the rats.

So it was that Happy woke to Mel's prodding when the moon still shone two weeks after his fourth birthday. He didn't understand why Mel had pancakes crisping hours earlier than normal. Happy had no reason to doubt his father. He rubbed his eyes and began cutting the cakes with his fork.

"I'm takin' you to work with me today," Mel advised while Happy swirled a section of pancake in syrup. "I think you're big enough to start earnin' your keep."
"OK," Happy accepted.

Mel had kept Happy away from the rats. He had seen some monsters. They had seen him, or most importantly, smelled him. They knew he was their nemesis. Mel felt them watch as he pulled one of their lifeless own from under the stained lead springs of the kill traps. The rats had quite a kingdom in Mel's dump. He imagined them plotting against their evil dictator from the shadows.

The rats were smart, which meant they were dangerous. But they never approached the trailer where he slept. This is why Mel always kept Happy in the trailer when he was away. Now the boy had turned 4. Mel had burn scars from spitting hot engines at the same age. He figured it was time to expose Happy to some scars of his own.

Mel explained the dangers to his son. "You can't go runnin' over to pet 'em. These rats ain't afraid. They're just waitin' for their chance. And never go out there with food in your hand. Give 'em a hint you got some food and they'll swarm at ya."

Happy was a young boy and inherently fascinated with all that creeped and crawled. Regardless of Mel's warnings, he wanted more than anything to see a rat in full view. He only managed to catch glimpses of a hairless tail or a dirty gray rump scurry behind a tire or shattered crate. Mel watched him looking out the window hoping for a sighting. The old man knew his warnings only fed the mania, but he couldn't think of another way. He wanted Happy to have the fun he wanted, but to proceed with extreme caution. He wanted Happy to approach the unknown better than he did.

Mel knew his son would be delighted to accompany him on his hunts. He was a new parent and struggled with how to present the dangers in his kingdom. Mel originally planned the pre dawn breakfast for Happy's fourth birthday. Two weeks later, the old man finally decided the pros were worth the cons.

"You're gonna go hunt rats with me," the old man unveiled.
Happy's eyes flashed like a poker machine. "Really?" he shrieked with a mouth full of pancake.
Mel nodded, reminded again how he made the right decision. "Really."
Happy jumped off his chair and into the old man's lap, throwing both arms around his neck in celebration. "I love you, Dad!"
Mel accepted the embrace and hugged his son back. "I love you, too, Happy."

Tears were blocked from leaving their ducts by Mel's sheer will. He picked his son from his lap and set him on the floor, a trying challenge for a 73 year old alcoholic. He cleared his throat and wiped his nose to allow the emotion to evaporate. He caught his breath and pumped his fist for the belated birthday gift.
"Now let's go kill some rodents, Son!" The proud father cheered.

LIW&B Chapter 4 (Opening)

Mel Stotch was no gourmet chef, but could cook well when he wanted to put forth the effort. Mel could grill burgers. He ate a lot of burgers, almost as many as boloney sandwiches. Sometimes he spent the effort on his specialty, Beer Can Chicken, his traditional birthday meal. Mel had a few recipes for chili, some with pork sausage and bacon, but that was too much fuss for a single old man. There was no reason to spend the money on a meal like that, not just for himself. Mel liked simple, burgers and baloney sandwiches. He didn't have much practice cooking for a child. Through trial and error and vomit they arrived at one masterpiece Happy grew to love as his favorite, pancakes.

Mel served pancakes with lots of syrup and butter and that's how Happy liked them. Mel had mixed up batter and flipped pancakes since he was a child. Many hungover mornings absorbed easier when the old man took the time. When he took the time, he took it very seriously.

"Ya gotta put your elbows into mixing this batter. No clumps or holes, keep it smooth," he would growl to his young son. And go easy on the flour! It's a pancake not a pansteak! If you can't cut it with the fork, it's not edible. Sometimes you pour some syrup on there and let it soak in to soften up. If you still can't cut it with the fork, send it back." Mel felt good to brag.

To Be Continued...... Sorry to cut so short but I'm starting to doze. I'll copy and paste to start over next time.