Poke Him With A Broom

Back in the mid 90s I lived with my parents in the high desert of California. The house my parents had bought was an old homestead on five acres. It was small and in serious need of repairs. To be honest, it would have been less work to build a house from scratch. My dad was doing most of the work himself with a little help from my uncles.

Summer came and so did the warm weather. My dad thought it would be a great time to take the old roof off and put a new roof on. For those that are not aware of desert weather, it changes like turning on and off a light, especially during thunderstorm season. Thunderstorms in this area bring wind, pouring rain, and flash floods.

My dad was about halfway through the work on the roof when clouds started to form. My dad took note and kept an eye on the clouds. Not long after that he called down to my mom, “Come up here and help me.”

“Help you with what?” my mom answered.

My dad yelled back, “Come help me cover the open spots up here. That storm is coming in quick. If it rains the house with flood.”

After looking outside my mom replied, “No. It’s already lightening. I’m not going up there.” Before I go any further, I would like to say my mom has a fake leg. She lost her left leg below the knee to cancer.

“Get up here and help me, now!” my dad yelled.

Looking up at my dad from the ground she said, “I have metal in my leg remember? I am not getting on that roof just to get struck by lightning.”

My dad peered over the edge and said in a snarky tone, “You have a better chance of getting shot in L.A. than you do getting struck by lightning on this roof. Now help me!”

Again, my mom refused to climb up the ladder. For the next hour or so my mom handed traps and large rolls of clear plastic up to my dad. They were clearly angry with each other. Her because he did seem to understand her concern and him because it seemed like she did not want to help. Neither was the case, thankfully.

Once the roof was covered my dad began his decent. His feet had barely been on the ground for a few minutes when it happened.

ZAP! My dad had been struck by lightning. All my mom could think to do was call my grandpa. After calming down enough to make sense my mom explained what happened. My grandpa told my mom to touch him with something in case he was still charged and to call 911. So, my mom called 911 while she poked at my dad with a broom.

My dad woke up to being poked with the broom just as the EMTs arrived. He had flown a few feet, all the hair on one side of his body was instantly white, and one of his heels had been blown off when the electricity left him. His vitals were stable, and he did not want to go to the hospital. After some degree of pressure, the EMTs left.

Not five minutes after the EMTs left Southern California Edison, the electric company, came rolling into our driveway. They wanted to check the power since the storm had been so bad, so they said. The guys never looked at the box. They were only interested in trying to talk to my dad, the guy who got struck and lived.