Pyro-Mom, Pyro-Sons

It really shouldn't surprise me that my ES loves fire. He even chose the word "pyro" as part of his e-mail address. Moreover, he has a knack for starting them. When I took him to an afternoon Indian seminar at Russell Woods Forest Preserve once, he was the only individual who managed to get their fire started by just using a flint and some sticks.

I, too, was quite fascinated with fire when I was growing up. However, I also developed a healthy fear of it. At one point, I had convinced myself that I was going to die in a house fire and I wouldn't go to sleep. My father did his best to allay my fears and pray with me before bedtime for a while.

I know that inability to sleep occurred when we were living in a house in Alton, Illinois. What I don't recall, is whether or not the disturbed sleep came before or after I first singed my own bangs off. My bedroom at our house in Alton was on the lowest level and my window above my bed, looked out over the ground of our front yard. In a moment of sheer brilliance, I decided to get a paper lunch sack and fill it with toilet paper. Then, I put my head out of my window and, looking down at the bag, dropped a lit match into it.

There are several amazing things about this scenario. Of course, it is amazing that I merely managed to singe off my bangs instead of blowing off my head (of course, I didn't add a flammable substance to the fire). But, even more amazing, is the fact that I tried to head to the dinner table as if nothing had happened. I guess I was still in the throes of that "sheer brilliance" which sometimes overtakes my brain, because I was shocked when my parents noticed the singed bangs and the pungent odor coming from my head. Isn't burnt hair the worst smell in the world?

This week, we got a chance to catch a whiff of our own, thanks to our MS. ES had begged to build a bonfire. All three boys were down by the fire with their Dad while I was preparing our supper. I noticed ES pushing MS aside and yelling at him. Then, Dad came over and seemed to talk to him further. He had gone too close to the fire, trying to roast a pretend marshmallow on a stick, and had singed off his bangs.

I had already shared my paper bag story with the boys previously. As we ate, I remembered another story which brought the power of fire home to me in my formative years.

I had been hired to babysit for Danny. Danny's mother explained that his supper was in the oven and his green beans were boiling on the stove. I gathered up two hot pads, in either hand, and bent over to pull the meal out of the oven. Apparently, a burst of air from the oven leaped out and caused the flames on the stove to jump. My hair immediately ignited and my hands went up to my head. Danny was watching the whole thing with a look of horror. It must have been a quick flash and then I was patting my head all over with the hot pads.

I called my parents and they brought my sister to watch Danny while they rushed me to the emergency room. The doctors informed my parents that if I hadn't been wearing my hair up in side french braids, my entire head of hair would have been gone. As it was, I had to apply a thick white cream to my face every hour (something about the burns going into the layers of the skin). The cream absorbed the blackened bits and turned dark gray. I would wipe the darkened cream off and re-apply fresh cream.

This wouldn't have been too bad, if I hadn't had to go to school. But, I remember having to apply the cream at the beginning of one period and head to the restrooms to remove the graying cream from my face by the end of the period. Total embarrassment for a teenage girl! I think the embarrassment factor (although this particular incident wasn't necessarily my fault) carried far more weight than any admonition to "never play with fire!"

Even if I fail to get MS's hair cut this week, I doubt he will ever reach embarrassment level. Boys seem to wear such marks as a badge of honor.

By the way, in Britain they call bangs their "fringe." I toyed with the idea of titling this post "We've Managed to Singe our Fringe!" But, last night I discovered how many extra hits Michelle Kemper Brownlow has received at her blog due to the Octo-Mom reference, and thought Pyro-Mom had a good ring to it as well.