"Good job."

"Oh, no problem," I say. "Thanks for the light bulb."

"Oh, anytime," he says. "Just come to me if you ever need one."

Those were probably the most earnestly friendly words I've shared with my stepfather in a few years.

My mother ordered a ridiculous amount of wood for the house. We filled up three racks with wood, and then put the equivalent of two more racks of wood in a stack under our deck.

My stepfather spent most of the afternoon cursing at my mother and generally being a jerk, and my mother of course retaliated by also being a jerk.

I, however, was totally zen. I stood there and stared at the trees, and eventually at the setting sun behind them. They must've thought I was on drugs. I was perfectly nice and friendly and didn't participate in my mother's tacit attempts to get me to join in on the Stepfather bashing.

I stacked logs. I stacked more logs. It was amazing. It was peaceful. It was like Tetris filled with the sights and smells of Autumn. I thought to myself that I should sing the Tetris music to myself in my head. Instantly, the music from Super Mario Brothers started playing in my head and kept playing.

My stepfather continually complemented me on my log stacking. I have to admit I was doing a bang up job. Those log stacks were prettier than a diamoned tiara upon Alyson Hannigan's head.

The light outside the basement door where I go to smoke has been out as long as I can remember. The primevil darkness will be banished by the 100 watt bulb my stepfather gave me to replace the 60 watt bulb. If it bursts into flames and burns down the house, it probably would be a good symbol for how interaction with my stepfather normally goes.

It's kind of ironic that John is the one who has banished darkness from my smoking area.

Of course, if you count all the times that police had to come to our house for domestic disturbances, he banished darkness back then too. Police cars with their flashing lights do bring a neon, carnival atmosphere to any neighborhood.