Fire Bug (a.k.a. How I Ended Up In the Corner for Two Hours)

When I was a mere child of seven, I was a fire bug. I loved matches, candles, anything to do with fire. Even using a magnifying glass to torture helpless fat ants (luckily I outgrew that).

Our house had the coolest attic. I won't tell you what was plastered on the walls going up the stairs, but once you got up there, it was awesome.

We had a real phone booth complete with the old fashioned phone you hold your mouth up to, a pool table, an air hockey table and a bed. Off the main room was another room where my dad built a bar with tables and chairs. It was really cool. Oh yeah, and we had a life size cut out of Conway Twitty. I know, cool, right?

One day while my dad was downstairs napping, my best friend, Lori, and I were sitting up on the bar stools goofing around. I found a incense and decided to strike a match and light it.

I tried over and over to light the match but couldn't get it lit. Part of it was because I was actually afraid of burning myself. Just as I was attempting to light it again, I suddenly got smacked on the side of my body.

I looked at my friend Lori and pushed her back. "Stop!"

Two seconds later, I got smacked again. This time harder.

I spun around on my stool to face my dad. Who was not at all happy to find his seven year old trying to light matches in the attic.

He quickly sent Lori home (who was all too happy to oblige), and marched me downstairs to the kitchen.

He pointed to the corner and told me to sit in it.

Then he went back to his nap.