When I was about four years old I shared the smallest bedroom in the house with my sister, Lisa. She's 10 1/2 years older than I am, but she kind of liked me. (She might actually admit now that she did, in fact, like me then.) I'm sure I did stuff to annoy her, but she was good to keep that to herself. Her (our) room was always a mess. Clothes and shoes were everywhere. Dirty dishes were strewn about, and there may have even been food hanging around. Gross. You couldn't just go to bed at night. It was an ordeal to clean up the mess. Dad even got a photo of it at one of its worst moments. He showed it to Lisa and she said, "Where is that?!" As if she'd never seen it before. The conversation that ensued trying to prove it was her room was hilarious and ridiculous. I'm still not sure whether or not Dad "won" the argument.
Like most four-year-olds, I was precarious and loved to find out how things worked. My curiosity sometimes got the best of me. And it still does occasionally. There was just so much to learn and see and do. Because I shared a room with a much older sibling, I thought my life should be as interesting as Lisa's life seemed to be.
One night, as I was getting ready for bed and playing (aka wasting time getting in my PJs) in the bedroom, I noticed a fork lying on a plate in the room. I had watched Lisa a hundred times, or more, plug in her curling iron and blow dryer to the outlet in the wall. Those items were strewn about the floor in that room as well. What wasn't strewn about in that room? In fact, I think there may have been curling iron burns on the carpet of that bedroom. It seems like there were at least two in or near the closet.
You can probably imagine where this story is going. I took the fork and "plugged" it into the wall socket. An instant tingling sensation went up my arm. My teeth were clenched tightly together. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and suddenly I felt a bit ... strange. I felt my grip on the fork tighten and then realized I should probably let go. The fork dropped to the ground, and I sat there on my knees not sure what had just happened.
I don't remember if the lights flickered or what, but the next thing I remember was Dad coming down the stairs and into the bedroom. He took one look at my hair standing straight up on my head and knew what had happened. The electricity was still seeping out of me as he tried to smooth my hair back into place. He was talking to me, but I remember not being able to answer back unless it was a yes or no question I could answer with a nod.
Dad helped me finish changing into my pajamas, and by that time Lisa returned to the room from wherever she had been in the house. He lit into her for leaving the plate, the fork, the trash, the clothes, the shoes, and everything else all over that room. Look what happened because of her slobby lifestyle! Didn't she care that I had electrocuted myself and could have died? Didn't she?! Dad had a lot to say that night, and for once, Lisa just listened and kept saying to me over and over, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry!" All the while I just nodded while I tried to keep my eyes in their sockets.
Finally, Dad got over it and laid out a blanket and a pillow on the floor. He told Lisa to get to bed. Then, he turned out the lights, and in his clothes, he got down on the floor with me. For the first little bit, I had random jerking motions coming out of my body. He would just hold my arm or leg tightly until it passed. We (or maybe it was just me) eventually fell asleep. Dad stayed there the entire night making sure I was all right.
I don't know much about electricity. Science has never really been my forte. I couldn't figure out why Dad stayed with me all night long, or why he told me not to take a bath until the next night. It wasn't until later, when I actually took a science class in school, that I realized Dad was worried I still had electricity coursing through my body. He knew Lisa wouldn't wake up or know what to do with me if she did wake up and something was wrong. Dad was so worried about something going wrong or being wrong with me that he opted to lie on the hard floor (it was carpeted, but still) sharing a blanket and pillow with me so I could sleep and he could breathe.
Interestingly, there are a few things I learned from this experience. Number one, I should have invented those plug covers and become a multi-millionaire. Number two, it really is important to have a somewhat clean room (although my current bedroom would call me a hypocrite right now). And number three, parents make some real, serious sacrifices for their children, even if sometimes it's just for their own sanity.
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