by Kenneth McDade on Wednesday, January 14, 2009 at 3:10pm
I was four years old when I first experimented with electricity. My older siblings and parents were engaged in an exciting game of monopoly. Being an inquisitive child with a need for scientific experimentation I set out for bolder adventures. The truth of the matter was I was too young to play and I was bored. One of the many gadgets to me at this time was a small metal hair clip. The times were the sixties, hair clips were in their heyday along with curlers and Dippity Do.
Being a toddler, male and an adventurer, my curiosity was piqued when I found a hair clip that evening. I saw no useful function for this device; surely there was more to it than holding hair in place. This was a great age, an age of space exploration, of scientific discovery, of television (now in living color). I searched the room for remnants of other parts to this unusual device. I studied the hair clip intensely. I opened and closed it to learn its function and secret. I held paper together with it. I even clipped it to my ear at one point. Surely this object had a purpose. Then I noticed an electrical outlet looming behind a book shelf in the den. Ah-ha. No wonder this device didn’t do anything, it had no power. This was an electric age and I had completely let it slip my mind. No place for batteries in it. I pinched it open. The thongs of the hair clip formed a perfect “V” shape. “Okay,” I thought and headed for the socket.
The socket was half hidden behind a copy of a huge medical dictionary, an omen if ever there was one. I put the medical dictionary on the floor and pushed the other books aside. There it was the standard Sears and Roebuck B type home receptacle and power appliance source; 120 volts of crackling energy. A truly remarkable device for holding back a creature of infinite power. I lined up a trajectory with the hair clip and the socket, and then moved in for the completion of electrical experiment number one. The next few minutes are still kind of hazy, my brother had to fill me in later, however, I do remember the sharp pain erupting through my arm and tightening my grip on the object of now obvious destruction. The pain coursed through the rest of my body with remarkable speed sending my eyeballs spinning. Someone was screaming loud and adding to the pain. It wasn’t until later that I learned that I was the only one screaming.
My mother moved with the speed of the current now replacing the blood in my veins. Mom’s knowledge of electricity had somehow surpassed mine. She knew without experimentation not to grab me, lest she be subject to the same fate. So she did the sensible thing and kicked me right in the stomach and away from the wall and the current beast hidden behind it. A relief rushed through me for a micro second right before the new pain of searing flesh came to my attention. My hand was smoking. I hear a scream again, it was still me. Suddenly I was flown into the bathroom by my all knowing mom, who barked orders to the rest of the family with all the precision of a drill sergeant. My hand was shoved under bullets of cold water. My screaming had now turned to blubbering sobs as my family rushed in and out with different ointments and treatments. All I could muster with my voice was, “Bactine, please Bactine.” Dad was on the phone calling the doctor. The hall phone was near the bathroom, so I heard the conversation between my mother’s soothing words of “Be still!” From the fragmented memory and family mythology this was dad’s conversation with the doctor.
“Yes, may I speak to Dr. Alexander please, thank you? Yes, I’ll hold.” Infinite time later. “Hi doc, yah, hi, it’s me Bobby, what, oh, I’m fine, fine and you? Good, how’s the wife and kids, good, good. Oh, fine, just fine, well except that little one of mine. (Yes, I was once little, a runt actually) Yeah, he’s growing like a weed, what, oh about…” Here he hollered to mom, “Dear heart, how old is he now? I thought he was five, oh, okay…Doc, yeah, he’s four, hard to keep up with…”
I am sure my dad finally got around to telling the doctor about the incident, but I didn’t hear because my brother came in.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. It was here I wondered about my brother’s ability to rationalize the volume of my screaming and crying with the amount of pain and suffering.
My mom began putting goo all on my hand while I mumbles a few, “ows, ouches and Bactine, please.” Now mom was an experienced camp director, Girl Scout leader and youth worker, she was used to unusual situations. She gave me love support, bandages and the top hat from the monopoly game.
It was a long, painful, sleepless night. My brother had convinced me that my hand might fall off in the middle of the night, so I had better keep it close to catch it when it did. My experiment with electricity, hairclips, ointment and later dead skin gave me a deeper appreciation for controlled experimentation and …lab assistants. My next experiment would have to involve my brother.
Being a toddler, male and an adventurer, my curiosity was piqued when I found a hair clip that evening. I saw no useful function for this device; surely there was more to it than holding hair in place. This was a great age, an age of space exploration, of scientific discovery, of television (now in living color). I searched the room for remnants of other parts to this unusual device. I studied the hair clip intensely. I opened and closed it to learn its function and secret. I held paper together with it. I even clipped it to my ear at one point. Surely this object had a purpose. Then I noticed an electrical outlet looming behind a book shelf in the den. Ah-ha. No wonder this device didn’t do anything, it had no power. This was an electric age and I had completely let it slip my mind. No place for batteries in it. I pinched it open. The thongs of the hair clip formed a perfect “V” shape. “Okay,” I thought and headed for the socket.
The socket was half hidden behind a copy of a huge medical dictionary, an omen if ever there was one. I put the medical dictionary on the floor and pushed the other books aside. There it was the standard Sears and Roebuck B type home receptacle and power appliance source; 120 volts of crackling energy. A truly remarkable device for holding back a creature of infinite power. I lined up a trajectory with the hair clip and the socket, and then moved in for the completion of electrical experiment number one. The next few minutes are still kind of hazy, my brother had to fill me in later, however, I do remember the sharp pain erupting through my arm and tightening my grip on the object of now obvious destruction. The pain coursed through the rest of my body with remarkable speed sending my eyeballs spinning. Someone was screaming loud and adding to the pain. It wasn’t until later that I learned that I was the only one screaming.
My mother moved with the speed of the current now replacing the blood in my veins. Mom’s knowledge of electricity had somehow surpassed mine. She knew without experimentation not to grab me, lest she be subject to the same fate. So she did the sensible thing and kicked me right in the stomach and away from the wall and the current beast hidden behind it. A relief rushed through me for a micro second right before the new pain of searing flesh came to my attention. My hand was smoking. I hear a scream again, it was still me. Suddenly I was flown into the bathroom by my all knowing mom, who barked orders to the rest of the family with all the precision of a drill sergeant. My hand was shoved under bullets of cold water. My screaming had now turned to blubbering sobs as my family rushed in and out with different ointments and treatments. All I could muster with my voice was, “Bactine, please Bactine.” Dad was on the phone calling the doctor. The hall phone was near the bathroom, so I heard the conversation between my mother’s soothing words of “Be still!” From the fragmented memory and family mythology this was dad’s conversation with the doctor.
“Yes, may I speak to Dr. Alexander please, thank you? Yes, I’ll hold.” Infinite time later. “Hi doc, yah, hi, it’s me Bobby, what, oh, I’m fine, fine and you? Good, how’s the wife and kids, good, good. Oh, fine, just fine, well except that little one of mine. (Yes, I was once little, a runt actually) Yeah, he’s growing like a weed, what, oh about…” Here he hollered to mom, “Dear heart, how old is he now? I thought he was five, oh, okay…Doc, yeah, he’s four, hard to keep up with…”
I am sure my dad finally got around to telling the doctor about the incident, but I didn’t hear because my brother came in.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. It was here I wondered about my brother’s ability to rationalize the volume of my screaming and crying with the amount of pain and suffering.
My mom began putting goo all on my hand while I mumbles a few, “ows, ouches and Bactine, please.” Now mom was an experienced camp director, Girl Scout leader and youth worker, she was used to unusual situations. She gave me love support, bandages and the top hat from the monopoly game.
It was a long, painful, sleepless night. My brother had convinced me that my hand might fall off in the middle of the night, so I had better keep it close to catch it when it did. My experiment with electricity, hairclips, ointment and later dead skin gave me a deeper appreciation for controlled experimentation and …lab assistants. My next experiment would have to involve my brother.
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