Not my hair. My head.
Both of my youngest McMonkeys asked me with flicker of fear in their eyes, if what I was doing was safe. Could I possibly get hurt? It looked dangerous, they said.
I told them it was completely impossible to get injured, head lodged in a propane fireplace and using a Zippo lighter to try to trick the thermocouple that senses the pilot lights heat, to open the main burner valve.
I knew what I was doing...
They laughed, accepted my pronouncement and went outside in the snow, on their merry way.
At dinner Stephen asked what happened to my head. I offhandedly mentioned I may have singed it on the propane insert...
You see, I knew what I was doing. Anybody remotely aware of there surroundings and with a wit of intelligence could have sidestepped this little flesh fricasse...
But I got frustrated and hurried. This had worked a half dozen of times in the past, in one quarter of the time.
I forgot, without the fake log to dissipate the heat, how hot the top shroud would get. My sweaty head bumped the shroud and singed a four inch line across the top of my scalp.
Twice.
Of course twice. I never have ever made a mistake, just once...
On a happier note, my eldest ran the snowblower for the first time. No issues, he was intuitive and safe. I watched him walk out of the bathroom, after dinner and saw one of those commercial replays of him going thru the same door at age five, age seven, age nine and age twelve, in my mind...
I realized I'm becoming obsolete.
Most all the things that need doing, my children are old enough and smart enough, to do...
Mowing the lawn, cooking their meals, getting ready for bed, dad not needed.
For someone intent on not missing the small moments, it seems many of them have passed even though I was present. I didn't miss them, but they passed anyway...
So I manage to keep a few niches to myself, like gas grills and fireplaces...
At least I keep things interesting....
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