By Stefanie Boyd

Arizona Daily Wildcat

Last Saturday afternoon I was at a baseball game near my parents' house, a double-header. At the beginning of the second game I noticed smoke billowing up in the distance. A few minutes later the smoke became obscured by leaping orange flames.

The fire seemed to be in the general direction of my parents' house. I wasn't too concerned though, knowing that distances are difficult to judge. (When my grandma moved to Tucson several years ago, one of her first plans was to take a short walk up to the mountains).

The fire was probably miles away.

But the game got boring so I decided to walk through the wash and see if I could play eye-witness to the action. Ha ha, I thought, maybe it is my house. I won't have to clean out my old bedroom. Maybe Oscar, Dad's gross little yorkshire terrier, will fall victim to the disaster.

About half way there my sadistic fantasies vanished as I realized that it really was my house. I broke into a panicked run.

It was typical "Picket Fences" scandal. All the neighbors were gathered in their driveways. I found one I recognized who informed me that the easement behind my back yard had caught on fire. Luckily, my dad is familiar with emergency procedure. He called 911 and then traipsed back there, equipped with a garden hose in each hand.

My lack of poise under pressure is legendary. I climbed on top of the wall, trying to see my dad through the smoke and the brush and called out, "Dad, what's going on? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, hon. How are you?"

He's always been a little bizarre.

Fifteen minutes later the fire engines arrived and put Dad's garden hoses to shame. He emerged all smiles from the charred remains, dripping wet and black with soot. His hair was sticking out everywhere and his T-shirt was ripped.

I may not be a 14-year-old girl in a thong bikini, and my dad's certainly not some illiterate French actor, but I think our 15 minutes of mini-fame makes for a much more interesting "My Father the Hero."

You May Survive is a weekly column in the alterNation arts magazine. This is the last one of the year, so you have lots of time to think up new escapades for arts reporters next year. Have a great summer and see ya next year. Read Next Article