Church Magazines + An Evil Child = Disaster

When I was a kid, I loved The Friend Magazine. I couldn't wait until I got my next issue. I loved the stories where they used a picture of an eye instead of the word "I", a picture of Planet Earth instead of the word "world", etc. and the Friends in the News. I wanted to be a Friend in the News so bad, but apparently I wasn't cute enough or diverse enough or whatever it was you had to be to get chosen. I would read the whole issue front to back and then I would read it again. I still loved it when I got older and begged my parents to renew my subscription, even though by 1984 I should have been more interested in the teen-friendly New Era. They got me that too, but the articles in the New Era were all words and there were no puzzles, so I left it in its plastic package and read The Friend. My parents encouraged this. They figured that reading a magazine in which most of the articles were about Jesus would encourage me to develop strong moral convictions and stuff.

It occurred to me sometime in college that I could not recall being babysat or being left home alone very often as a child. At the time, I decided that it was because my parents were either very devoted or very boring. I realize now that it was because I was such a turd that no one in their right mind would want to babysit me and/or they were afraid of what I would do if I was home alone. This turned out to be a completely valid concern. (Note: Foreshadowing)

There I was, home alone on a very rare occasion on a summer afternoon, when the Mailman pulled up and delivered The Friend. Yippee! The last article was awesome. Not about Jesus, but about one if His greatest creations - potato chips! - and how they were made. "Hmmm," thought I, "all it takes to make potato chips is oil, salt and potatoes. I have oil, salt, and potatoes. I will make my own potato chips!" Like all my childhood ambitions, i.e. the second grade talent show, doing cartwheels in the choir seats during church to make Kenny Klingler love me, being a successful adult, etc., this one was doomed to be a spectacular failure.

My experiences with cooking had been limited to opening cans of Spaghettios for my dad to heat up, but I didn't let that put a damper on my enthusiasm. I pulled out a five gallon jug of imported Italian olive oil and filled a large pot to the top. I turned the burner on high and sliced up a potato. This was going to be awesome. It took forever for the pot to come to a boil. I figured the little bubbles didn't count so I waited patiently for the big ones. I speared my first chip with a fork and stuck it in the oil, which bubbled ominously. I was oblivious to impending doom because my chip was perfect and delicious. I speared my second chip and stuck it in the oil, which reacted by blowing up and spurting flames all over the kitchen. The force of the heat knocked me over, probably saving me from some vicious burns.

Fortunately, I also had a subscription to Ranger Rick and had read its numerous articles on fire safety. And although I may lack a certain degree of common sense, I am a quick thinker. I knew that water would not put out an oil fire but baking soda would. I grabbed the baking soda out of the cabinet and quickly doused the fire. Unfortunately, quick thinking and fast action can not hide the effects of a column of flames on kitchen cabinets. The heat made the stain bubble and crack on the cabinets above and below the stove and there was a gigantic scorch mark on the ceiling. There was no hiding this one.

I was debating whether or not to call the fire department to make sure the fire was actually out when my parents arrived. My mother, who has a way of being positive about selected tragedies (meaning, a tremendous capacity for denial) praised my quick thinking and was glad I was OK. My dad didn't say anything and cleaned up the grease spattered walls. I didn't touch the stove again until college, when my roommates had to teach me how to cook pasta and brown ground beef .

The moral of the story is, letting your children read church magazines can be more harmful than you think.