Kids Playing with Fire
Every year, thousands of children die or are permanently disfigured from fires, some that they start themselves. Like the early cavemen (and modern-day men at the barbecue), children are fascinated by fire. From little fires, like candles on birthday cakes, to bigger campfires - where you see smoke and flames, you will see likely see kids (or men).
My mother and my step-father smoked, so there were matches lying around everywhere, or if we were lucky, a big lighter (the metal ones that held lighter fluid). Most of the books of matches came free with each pack of cigarettes, or you could buy a block of 50 packages for about ten cents. I know; we bought a lot of them. Kitchen matches were different. Kitchen matches were wood and had a double tip; one red and one white. The white tip (phosphorous, I believe) created the spark that would light the match if stuck on any rough surface, like a brick wall.
As a child in small-town Appalachia, having a book of matches was equivalent to having a weapon. You could randomly strike them and flip 'em at your friends, light an outdoor trash can that seemed to need burning, or incinerate one of your brother's plastic toys. While sitting in the back yard with my best friend, Terry one day, I decided to ignite a toy plastic truck. As a huge cloud of noxious, black smoke billowed from the burning toy, my step-father yelled from the house.
"What's all that smoke?"
"What smoke?" I replied. It was always best to plead ignorance, not matter how obvious it is that you are guilty.
Carrying around kitchen matches was a bit more risky. My friend, Jim, discovered that one day when he had a pocket full of kitchen matches. Forgetting that he had matches in his pocket, Jim tried to brush off some dirt. Suddenly, flames and smoke shot out of his front pocket. Jim began to dance like he had never danced before, madly attempting to remove his jeans. The incident burned a good sized hole in his pants and his upper leg, just inches from his developing manhood.
One of our more inventive friends discovered that if you put kitchen matches in the end of a BB-gun, you could fire them out. They would ignite if they struck a hard-enough object. Kitchen matches can also be lit simply by flicking them with your fingernails. We also discovered that if you twisted off the heads of thousands (yes, thousands!) of book matches, you could create a flame thrower. You just stuff them into a long tube, sealed at one end, and light the other. We were so successful at creating these flame-throwers, that we formed a club called the Fire Bombers.
The Fire Bombers ruled for one summer. We had to disband after discharging one of our carefully-made weapons at one of our nerdy rivals, Gregory. I can still see him running down the alley next to our house, fleeing from a shower of ignited match heads.
"I'm calling the cops! You guys have dynamite!" (Our town only had one policeman, so I am not sure who else he was going to call).
"Go ahead!" Unfortunately, he did.
We were busily making an even bigger flame-thrower when Officer Lohr interrupted our assembly line of match-head twisters. He was pleased that we did not really have dynamite, but that did give us some ideas. Today, we would have been considered terrorists.
In 7th grade, we discovered model rockets. We would build them for hours in our basement and then triumphantly fire them off. Since model rocket engines cost about thirty cents each, we did not do this very often. Occasionally, we would "modify" the rockets. Officer Lohr had mentioned "dynamite". The closest thing we could come to that was black powder. Since many of our family members were hunters, it wasn't very difficult to get some black powder to load into those model rockets. We actually wanted to pack the rockets with match heads, but the local store had been forewarned not to sell us any more matches.
We learned two things:
If you have seen the movie, Stand by Me, you will better appreciate my rural childhood. We would often camp-out for days during the hot summer months. It was too hot and stuffy in our non-air conditioned homes, and besides, it was more fun to sneak around in the middle of the night when parents were asleep. Campfires were mandatory, even though we rarely had the need for warmth or food that required cooking. There is just something about a campfire. It was also fun to pee on it. Ahhh...the smell of sizzling urine.
Campfires led to lighting sticks. Lit sticks, when thrown into the air, could be used to create a shower of sparks - a poor child's fireworks. Hot coals can also be thrown into the air or at each other. Model rockets could be fired into the night sky. Illegal fireworks, obtained for the 4th of July, were always readily available for a price. We were typical boys. We had fun; dangerous fun, of course, but fun nonetheless. Any peripheral fire that we started was quickly extinguished by our tennis shoes. As far as we know, our parents were oblivious to our homemade pyrotechnics.
Knowing my own boyhood fascination (and close calls) with fire, we really watched as our kids grew up. Since we did not smoke, there were rarely any matches in the house. It was even a challenge to find a way of lighting birthday candles. In spite of our diligence, three of our boys once set their backyard playhouse on fire, under the watchful (albeit, closed) eyes of a babysitter. As my wife drove up to the house, she could easily see smoke coming from the backyard. She ran into the house; passed the babysitter watching soap operas, and headed for the backyard. She arrived just in time to put out the recently-ignited playhouse with the hose. This was the babysitter's last day of employment, as you might imagine.
So, please, parents, keep matches and lighters away from the curious hands of children (especially boys). Wives please watch your husband and don't let him dump a can of charcoal lighter on the barbecue and jump back. Have a fire escape plan for your home. Check those smoke detectors regularly. Be especially careful if you are camping to avoid the spread of a campfire.
Today, the air is dry and there is a wind - perfect conditions for an out-of-control fire. I scan the horizon for signs of smoke. I smell the air.
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: fire safety, matches, playing with fire, health and wellness
My mother and my step-father smoked, so there were matches lying around everywhere, or if we were lucky, a big lighter (the metal ones that held lighter fluid). Most of the books of matches came free with each pack of cigarettes, or you could buy a block of 50 packages for about ten cents. I know; we bought a lot of them. Kitchen matches were different. Kitchen matches were wood and had a double tip; one red and one white. The white tip (phosphorous, I believe) created the spark that would light the match if stuck on any rough surface, like a brick wall.
As a child in small-town Appalachia, having a book of matches was equivalent to having a weapon. You could randomly strike them and flip 'em at your friends, light an outdoor trash can that seemed to need burning, or incinerate one of your brother's plastic toys. While sitting in the back yard with my best friend, Terry one day, I decided to ignite a toy plastic truck. As a huge cloud of noxious, black smoke billowed from the burning toy, my step-father yelled from the house.
"What's all that smoke?"
"What smoke?" I replied. It was always best to plead ignorance, not matter how obvious it is that you are guilty.
Carrying around kitchen matches was a bit more risky. My friend, Jim, discovered that one day when he had a pocket full of kitchen matches. Forgetting that he had matches in his pocket, Jim tried to brush off some dirt. Suddenly, flames and smoke shot out of his front pocket. Jim began to dance like he had never danced before, madly attempting to remove his jeans. The incident burned a good sized hole in his pants and his upper leg, just inches from his developing manhood.
One of our more inventive friends discovered that if you put kitchen matches in the end of a BB-gun, you could fire them out. They would ignite if they struck a hard-enough object. Kitchen matches can also be lit simply by flicking them with your fingernails. We also discovered that if you twisted off the heads of thousands (yes, thousands!) of book matches, you could create a flame thrower. You just stuff them into a long tube, sealed at one end, and light the other. We were so successful at creating these flame-throwers, that we formed a club called the Fire Bombers.
The Fire Bombers ruled for one summer. We had to disband after discharging one of our carefully-made weapons at one of our nerdy rivals, Gregory. I can still see him running down the alley next to our house, fleeing from a shower of ignited match heads.
"I'm calling the cops! You guys have dynamite!" (Our town only had one policeman, so I am not sure who else he was going to call).
"Go ahead!" Unfortunately, he did.
We were busily making an even bigger flame-thrower when Officer Lohr interrupted our assembly line of match-head twisters. He was pleased that we did not really have dynamite, but that did give us some ideas. Today, we would have been considered terrorists.
In 7th grade, we discovered model rockets. We would build them for hours in our basement and then triumphantly fire them off. Since model rocket engines cost about thirty cents each, we did not do this very often. Occasionally, we would "modify" the rockets. Officer Lohr had mentioned "dynamite". The closest thing we could come to that was black powder. Since many of our family members were hunters, it wasn't very difficult to get some black powder to load into those model rockets. We actually wanted to pack the rockets with match heads, but the local store had been forewarned not to sell us any more matches.
We learned two things:
- It is possible to create a missile that will explode in the air with a huge bang.
- Black powder is heavy, so those missiles do not go up very high.
If you have seen the movie, Stand by Me, you will better appreciate my rural childhood. We would often camp-out for days during the hot summer months. It was too hot and stuffy in our non-air conditioned homes, and besides, it was more fun to sneak around in the middle of the night when parents were asleep. Campfires were mandatory, even though we rarely had the need for warmth or food that required cooking. There is just something about a campfire. It was also fun to pee on it. Ahhh...the smell of sizzling urine.
Campfires led to lighting sticks. Lit sticks, when thrown into the air, could be used to create a shower of sparks - a poor child's fireworks. Hot coals can also be thrown into the air or at each other. Model rockets could be fired into the night sky. Illegal fireworks, obtained for the 4th of July, were always readily available for a price. We were typical boys. We had fun; dangerous fun, of course, but fun nonetheless. Any peripheral fire that we started was quickly extinguished by our tennis shoes. As far as we know, our parents were oblivious to our homemade pyrotechnics.
Knowing my own boyhood fascination (and close calls) with fire, we really watched as our kids grew up. Since we did not smoke, there were rarely any matches in the house. It was even a challenge to find a way of lighting birthday candles. In spite of our diligence, three of our boys once set their backyard playhouse on fire, under the watchful (albeit, closed) eyes of a babysitter. As my wife drove up to the house, she could easily see smoke coming from the backyard. She ran into the house; passed the babysitter watching soap operas, and headed for the backyard. She arrived just in time to put out the recently-ignited playhouse with the hose. This was the babysitter's last day of employment, as you might imagine.
So, please, parents, keep matches and lighters away from the curious hands of children (especially boys). Wives please watch your husband and don't let him dump a can of charcoal lighter on the barbecue and jump back. Have a fire escape plan for your home. Check those smoke detectors regularly. Be especially careful if you are camping to avoid the spread of a campfire.
Today, the air is dry and there is a wind - perfect conditions for an out-of-control fire. I scan the horizon for signs of smoke. I smell the air.
Related Topics: Technorati Tags: fire safety, matches, playing with fire, health and wellness
1 Comments:
I grew up with a mother who worked in the burn unit. She came home with horrendous stories of kids with matches.
I never saw her more horrified than when I was 10 years old and built a fire in my backyard. She came back and told me more and more stories about children who are burned.
Please be careful.
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