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| OK, so that is me. Something like eight years old I quess, standing outside the school I went then, waiting for my dad to come take me home. It has been freezing cold for days and days now, but no serious snow has yet hit the ground. |
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| All the other kids have already gone and I watch my breath draw white clouds in the cold air, waiting. When I see my dad walk down the street. |
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| He goes through the mandatory routines of asking how my day was, before we start heading towards home. |
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| Past the old fire station. And past the bridge over our town river. |
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| ...and when we are half way from home he starts complaining about the cold and how he needs to take a shit. And I say; -Yeah dad. But we are only half way from home. You just need to hold. |
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| Then suddenly he stops and goes all stiff and let`s go of my hand he`s been holding the most of our walk and I`m like; -Dad you all right? |
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| More than soon I realize, my hand ain`t the only thing he just dropped, when suffocating smell of warm shit invades my nostrils in the cold weather that seems to solidify the smell. That moment my jaw really dropped and it has stayed that way ever since. |
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| After he is finished with laying one in his ice fishing overalls he calmly shakes his left pant leg, dropping the turd there in the sidewalk. |
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| Takes my hand again and we continue our way home. |
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| Later that winter the temperatures dropped even lower and frost broke all the radiators in our house. |
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| My mom was there all by herself. |
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| And there were pools of frozen water, where she was found lying dead. |
