It's been a while...
Well, people are bugging me to make another entry. So I'll just tell a little story.
I was about 5 years old at the time. My Dad, sister and I had just recently finished building a playhouse in the back yard. My sister had fully furnished it with a cardboard stove, tapestries, a stool and some dishes.
I was in the house practicing writing me name. When all of a sudden, an extreme curiosity rushed over me. I walked into my parents room to look around. Immediately I found a small pack of matches. I know I am not supposed to be touching these, but hey, I am a responsible young fellow, what could go wrong?
So I confidently stroll outside and go into the play house. I can't figure out what the big deal is with these matches. They look so boring. So I strike one up. It was very interesting. I was both scared and fascinated at the same time. Wow, these things are way cooler when you light them.
Then I noticed the cardboard stove. We had an old gas stove in the house and it needed to be lit every time you use it. So I figured I would give it a try on this puppy. I light up another one and quiveringly I put the flame under the burner... It starts a very tiny fire, just like I thought it would. Now all I have to do is blow it out and everything will be cool.
*ffffwooooooooooosh*
Oh NO! The flame just got bigger. I try again, and nothing happens. Ok, time to think this through... I sprint back into the house and go into the refrigerator, pull out a 3 quart pitcher of Kool-Aid, then grab an 8 ounce, matching, Kool-Aid man cup and fill it up (while pouring it out over the sink so I don't make a mess). Because, god knows my mom would be pissed if I wasted the whole thing of Kool-Aid in one day. So I put my hand over the cup and run back to the now 2 foot high flame and dump the cup over it. Astonished that this did not alleviate my problem I quickly run back inside and do the same thing (who knows why I didn't just use the water from the sink). I get back to the now completely engulfed cardboard stove and dump out the Kool-aid once again. Well, this just isn't going to work.
I need "the hose". Crap, I don't know how to use the water pump to get the hose working. But I have to try! I fool around with the knobs and buttons and nothing seems to work. It's time to get help. I run inside and ask my sister how to work the hose. She says "I am only 6 I have no idea how to use the hose. Why don't you ask dad?" What a great idea.
I run into the front yard where my dad was and asked him in a very hasty and somewhat insane voice "How do you make the hose work, I really need to know."
"You don't need to play with the fucking hose, leave me alone."
"Dad I won't be playing with it, I just need to know right away!" I reply in an even faster and more urgent tone.
"Justin, What did you do now?" He says in an omniscient voice.
So I cave "The play house is on fire, help!!!!" and I run as fast as I can to my room.
Soon after my mother returned home and the fire had been put out. And the interrogation had begun. They take me into there room and ask me, "So how did the play house catch on fire?"
I had already thought of the perfect answer for this one "Well, I was walking around the playhouse and all of a sudden I tripped over the stool and landed on a rock. That rock had hit another rock and made a spark. This spark caught the cardboard stove on fire. I tried my best to put the fire out, but it was no use." There, no way they wouldn't fall for that one. Damn I'm slick.
"Sooo, there was just a bunch of flint lying around inside the playhouse?" Oh no, I have no idea what flint is. Could they be trying to coaxed me into a confession? I had better come up with something more believable quick.
"I'm sorry, what really happened was- Just after I tripped over the stool and the leg broke off, it had rubbed up against a stick that was on the floor next to it. It must have hit the stick pretty hard because my knee kinda hurts now. And that created the fire. It definitely wasn't me playing with matches. I know better than to play with matches, because fire is not a toy!" Phhhew, just dodged the bullet there.
And even today, I don't think my parents knew it was me.
I was about 5 years old at the time. My Dad, sister and I had just recently finished building a playhouse in the back yard. My sister had fully furnished it with a cardboard stove, tapestries, a stool and some dishes.
I was in the house practicing writing me name. When all of a sudden, an extreme curiosity rushed over me. I walked into my parents room to look around. Immediately I found a small pack of matches. I know I am not supposed to be touching these, but hey, I am a responsible young fellow, what could go wrong?
So I confidently stroll outside and go into the play house. I can't figure out what the big deal is with these matches. They look so boring. So I strike one up. It was very interesting. I was both scared and fascinated at the same time. Wow, these things are way cooler when you light them.
Then I noticed the cardboard stove. We had an old gas stove in the house and it needed to be lit every time you use it. So I figured I would give it a try on this puppy. I light up another one and quiveringly I put the flame under the burner... It starts a very tiny fire, just like I thought it would. Now all I have to do is blow it out and everything will be cool.
*ffffwooooooooooosh*
Oh NO! The flame just got bigger. I try again, and nothing happens. Ok, time to think this through... I sprint back into the house and go into the refrigerator, pull out a 3 quart pitcher of Kool-Aid, then grab an 8 ounce, matching, Kool-Aid man cup and fill it up (while pouring it out over the sink so I don't make a mess). Because, god knows my mom would be pissed if I wasted the whole thing of Kool-Aid in one day. So I put my hand over the cup and run back to the now 2 foot high flame and dump the cup over it. Astonished that this did not alleviate my problem I quickly run back inside and do the same thing (who knows why I didn't just use the water from the sink). I get back to the now completely engulfed cardboard stove and dump out the Kool-aid once again. Well, this just isn't going to work.
I need "the hose". Crap, I don't know how to use the water pump to get the hose working. But I have to try! I fool around with the knobs and buttons and nothing seems to work. It's time to get help. I run inside and ask my sister how to work the hose. She says "I am only 6 I have no idea how to use the hose. Why don't you ask dad?" What a great idea.
I run into the front yard where my dad was and asked him in a very hasty and somewhat insane voice "How do you make the hose work, I really need to know."
"You don't need to play with the fucking hose, leave me alone."
"Dad I won't be playing with it, I just need to know right away!" I reply in an even faster and more urgent tone.
"Justin, What did you do now?" He says in an omniscient voice.
So I cave "The play house is on fire, help!!!!" and I run as fast as I can to my room.
Soon after my mother returned home and the fire had been put out. And the interrogation had begun. They take me into there room and ask me, "So how did the play house catch on fire?"
I had already thought of the perfect answer for this one "Well, I was walking around the playhouse and all of a sudden I tripped over the stool and landed on a rock. That rock had hit another rock and made a spark. This spark caught the cardboard stove on fire. I tried my best to put the fire out, but it was no use." There, no way they wouldn't fall for that one. Damn I'm slick.
"Sooo, there was just a bunch of flint lying around inside the playhouse?" Oh no, I have no idea what flint is. Could they be trying to coaxed me into a confession? I had better come up with something more believable quick.
"I'm sorry, what really happened was- Just after I tripped over the stool and the leg broke off, it had rubbed up against a stick that was on the floor next to it. It must have hit the stick pretty hard because my knee kinda hurts now. And that created the fire. It definitely wasn't me playing with matches. I know better than to play with matches, because fire is not a toy!" Phhhew, just dodged the bullet there.
And even today, I don't think my parents knew it was me.