kiwords

Sorry to leave you hanging like that. I was...gestating. Seriously, it takes a lot of concentration. It must, or I have no explanation for why I poured myself a cup of tea the other day, noticed it was a bit cool, and popped the teapot in the microwave instead of the cup. Yeah. I walked away, cold cup of tea in my hand, and didn't notice the mix-up until the metal parts of the teapot started arcing and sizzling in the microwave. Haha! Aren't you glad I'm perpetuating my genes on the world?

Anyhow, as I was saying, starting fires. For months - years - the boys have been burning things with magnifying glasses. Scorching leaves, melting plastic figures, that sort of thing. But a few weeks ago Tre and Max were visiting some friends, and when I arrived to pick them up, the four of them were huddled in the gutter around a small fire. It seems they'd been playing with caps - from cap guns - and had discovered a wonderful, wonderful use for the sparks they'd coaxed from them.

And a new era dawned.

Soon the boys were spending most of their spare time outside, making small mounds of newspaper and leaves, and igniting them with their magnifying glasses. They didn't exactly ASK if it was okay, but I knew what they were doing, and I didn't exactly tell them not to, either.

Why?

I'm not sure. I watched them, and they were being very careful, always keeping a bottle of water nearby. They kept the area clear of anything that could catch fire, and the three of them would gather around one fire and just feed it and watch it. Sometimes they came inside with slightly scorched fingers (mostly Raphael, who I SWEAR needs a fear transplant), but never anything significant.

Most of all, I allowed it because they were so enthralled. They would come inside with their hair smelling of smoke, and their eyes shining. An odd side effect of exposure to danger in boys is peace. And joy. Plus, when I say I loved fire as a child, I'm not kidding. I LOVED fire. It was everything that was best about the world - beautiful and warming and magical and dangerous. I could not ever find the way into Narnia, none of the stray keys I found seemed to open doors to another world, and none of my pets ever ever talked to me, no matter how sincerely I assured them it would be okay, but with a match and a pile of splinters, I could bring to life a gorgeous, glowing monster. So I understood the boys' joy.

I did keep an eye on them, because I wanted them to be careful, but also because I wanted to be there if any adults saw them and objected. So you can imagine my irritation when I missed it.

They'd been outside, burning things in the gutter, and I'd been watching out the window while I puttered in the living room. I must have gone to the bathroom or something, because suddenly the three of them came stomping in, trying to outdo each other in scornful mockery of the woman who'd just gotten on their case.

Apparently she had driven up, rolled her window down, and said, "If you don't put that out right now, I'm calling the fire department." They drowned their fire with their water bottle, and she'd driven off, and now they were complaining bitterly.

CJ,I thought of you. And I panicked. What, exactly, would I have done if the fire department had showed up? The police always come along, you know. I DO NOT want to get crossways with CPS, oh my LORD, do I not. So I dropped the boom on the fire starting. For now all burning is disallowed, and the magnifying glasses are only for magnifying things.

I keep thinking about it, wondering if I was wrong or not. It's not easy to defend your right to allow your children to start fires, it's just not. And in this world of parenting-expert-approved answers, it's only getting harder. Maybe I did stray too far outside easily defensible lines.

At the same time, I remember the wilds of my youth and wonder how much those lines are holding out.