Almighty Dad | A stay at home dad blog

The Bucket
By Keith Wilcox

I have an empty bucket.  My mom told me to help clean the kitchen floor.  I’m supposed to take this bucket and fill it with water and soap.  I’m walking outside towards the spigot, and I’m thinking that water is not what I’d like to fill it with.

I could fill it with water, but I need to leave out the soap.  Soap stings when it gets in my eyes.  I don’t want to dump a bucket of soapy water on my head.  Regular water is fun though.  But, if I get wet, I’d want to take a bath.  Mom wouldn’t help me take a bath if I don’t help clean the kitchen floor first.  She’ll be happy I helped.  Then I’ll get my bath.

I could fill this bucket with gravel and dirt.  And, I could use that gravel and dirt to build a castle for my army men to patrol.  There is not enough gravel and dirt in my front yard.  I need a shovel.

I’ve seen my big brother play basketball.  I could put the bucket in the grass and toss rocks into it from over there.  I’ll do that later.  What else can I use this bucket for?

I put it on my head. It falls down and lies on my shoulders.  It makes everything on the outside sound weird, muffled.  I pretend I’m a blind robot.  I bang on the side.  It thuds in my ear.  I say “Pumpernickel!” and it echoes in my ear.  I’m walking in the driveway watching where I’m going by looking at my own feet.  I know where I am by the familiar cracks in the cement.  There’s a dandelion!  I crouch down to pick it up, bucket on my head.  Now I can’t see it anymore.  I take off the bucket and pick up the flower.  I’m blowing on the white fluffy top and the seeds are flying away.  I put the stem into the bucket.

It’s a green bucket.  I could throw it into the ivy over there; it’s almost the same color.  Would I be able to find it?  I throw the bucket.  It’s not hard to find; I see it from where I’m standing.  I climb up the bank and retrieve it.  Maybe if it were lost in the ivy for a week first, like when I lost my sister’s diary out here.  Then it would be more difficult.

I wish I had another bucket.  They could be friends.  I wonder how high I can throw it.  I swing it around and around by the handle.  I let it go and it flies straight up in the air.  Should I catch it?  I get out of the way.  It crashes to the ground and bounces away from me.  I hope it didn’t break. Mom would be mad.

When grandpa died dad said he kicked the bucket.  I wonder why he would do that before he died.  I kick the bucket too; to see if anything unusual happens.  The bucket rolls away.  Why would Grandpa do that?

How tall is Mom?  If I stand on the bucket would I be that tall?  First I have to go get the bucket.  It’s almost in the street.  I guess I kicked it pretty hard.  I turn the bucket over and stand on it.  I’m taller, probably a little taller than Mom.  I start making a speech to the plants about the current state of my homework.  I pretend they are taking notes.

I might as well fill up the bucket.  I walk to the side of the house and fill the bucket almost to the top.  Now I turn back and start for the kitchen.  I still have to add soap.  My mom asks me where I’ve been.  “I’ve been filling up the bucket, Mom.”

“John, why did you go outside?  We need warm water.  Go to the laundry room and get warm water this time.”

I start walking to the laundry room.  I wonder how fast I can get there with this bucket full of cold water.

Related posts:

1. Friday’s Story #10
2. Friday’s Story #9
3. Friday’s Story #3
4. Friday’s Story #6
5. Friday’s Story #8