My Father Accidentally Convinced Me I Was Going to Die

Today is Father's Day. Apparently only in Austria, but still. Today is Father's Day. My father passed away when I was still a Wee Me, and annoyed people in a different way ... maybe not too different. But despite the lack of age on my part I have fond memories.

I know what he looked like, that he used to do the cooking, and that he had a red tiny stuffed elephant - which I own now. Then I know that he often used to play the "drums" while driving the car, which annoyed me very much when I was sitting in the back. I was terrified that we'd crash while driving 10km/h. A bit hypocrite of Past Me, after all I do the same thing now. Wonder where I got that one from ...

Another thing I can remember is that my father used to drive a dark-green SEAT Toledo. The car itself was nothing special, but he couldn't park the damned thing if his life had depend on it it! I am not sure how he didn't crash into everything in Vienna all the time.
At home, he always backed it up into the pergola. Back then it was split in two - the front part for the two cars and the back for various garden rubbish - and those two areas were separated by a fence. Father chose that the wisest way to figure out where the fence was is by crashing into it. Constantly.
He backed up, crashed, put the car in park, turned around, smiled and stated, "that's parked."

Still, one of the best memories I have are about the time my father accidentally convinced me that I was going to die. Mostly because it's the kind of story I would want to be remembered by, and that I always recall it and shake my head think oh dad, you idiot. 

Wee Me and The Father were cleaned the bathroom together. He scrubbed the shower, I had sponge duties to make the brown bowl white and shiny again. While doing this I shook the bottle full of cleaning agent and squished some of it on the sponge.

Then it happened! A small droplet from the cleaning agent landed on my lips. I may have wiped it away, or ran my tongue over it ... but I realized something. I had swallowed cleaning agent.
Now, I had absolutely no idea if that was a good or a bad thing. If my guts would turn inside out, or if it would mean that I'd poop soap for the next three days.
There was a very simple way to figure this one out, so I casually asked my father, "What happens if you drink cleaning agent?"
Without thinking about it, he replied "You die."

The strange thing was that I did not start to cry, or wallow, or anything. I accepted my fate and continued to make the toilet white and shiny. The Father didn't really bother why I had asked.
Over the day I wondered if a small droplet of cleaning agent is also deadly - spoiler alert: it isn't. I didn't tell anybody about this at all. Maybe because I was about four years old and didn't have the slightest idea what death meant.
There was only one way to figure this out. So that night I crawled into bed and the next day I woke up again and continued to live my life ...

Years later I told the Birthgiver about this story, and she wondered why I didn't freak out, or why The Father didn't inquire why I had asked. But who knows ... it still makes me laugh. Oh dad ... 

Personally I feel people should rather remember the slightly stupid things that made them laugh after a week. Of course, I also have sad memories. However, I'd rather remember my father as the man who couldn't park his car, and convinced me by accident that I was going to die  ...

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