Member-only story
A Burglary
I remember the night clearly
When I was around ten years old, our family home got burglarized. My mother and sister were out somewhere at the time, but my father, my brother, and I came home from Sears in time to hear that someone was in the house, more specifically, downstairs in the basement.
We’d just pulled into the driveway when my father noticed all the lights on inside the house. A licensed carrier — yes, a gun nut, unfortunately — he immediately went for the pistol in his ankle holster. He told my brother and me to stay put inside the car. Then, he cautiously entered the house.
Of course, we didn’t listen to my father’s instructions and followed along soon after. The kitchen was trashed. And there was commotion heard from down in the basement.
When I went downstairs — I’m not sure what my brother was doing at this point, perhaps whimpering in the corner somewhere — my father and the burglar were nowhere in sight.
Our was stuff strewn everywhere. I immediately rushed to the other part of the basement, where the bulked was, and saw that it was open, the backyard censor light illuminating the area outside. And so, I was able to catch a glimpse of my father running through the snow away from our house.
