Mount St. Hell (the tale of a seven year old brain)

(This is only a seven year old’s perspective on his first day in Hell.  I mean no disrespect to heaven, God, my mother or volcanos……for all you jerks trying to edit my writing, yes, it can be spelled “VOLCANOES” as well……even if you are seven years old)

Where were you when Mount St. Helens blew?  I know where I was when it blew.  I was in our backyard playing football in Spokane, Washington with my brothers, and it was one of the worst days of my life……at that time of my serendipitous life.

At seven years old,  I didn’t understand or believe the magnitude of this event. I believed in several things, such as baseball, football, being forced to go to church on Sundays and my mom.  My mother, attempting to explain to a seven year old that pitch darkness would be arriving in ashes around noon made no sense at all to me while the sun still had many hours left allowing us to play before dinner.  It was the first time I didn’t believe what she said.

Believing in God, I couldn’t believe a volcano could turn off the sun like a lamp.  I thought, is a volcano more powerful than God?  I was frustrated and confused.  I wasn’t afraid, just angry because I cherished being able to play baseball and football on weekends with my brothers, and indeed, my mother was correct….as usual.

When the sun went off in Spokane, I finally believed in what those priests were saying about Heaven and Hell.  For me, heaven was in our backyard.  Then, on that dreadful day of May, 18th, 1980, I believed Hell blew many miles into our own yard from a volcano.  We had to be inside for a whole day which started out beautifully, and ended up in darkness.  My day was ruined, but then it even became worse the very next day.  We had to shovel that Godforsaken Ash that next day like it was the middle of winter.  Additionally, we were forced to wear these ridiculous masks so we wouldn’t develop some form of lung cancer.  Hell, thanks to my dad, I second hand smoked two packs a day from the day I was born.

Since then, I’ve forgiven the volcano, God, and those brand new ashes I only thought could show up on a day called Ash Wednesday, or in a tray one of my brothers would create in pottery class as a gift for our father.

I’m not quite as mature as I was in those days, but I am a bit older.  Nostalgia is always fun, even when it blows some people and trees out of their homes and habitat.


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