Three, four, five, six – drop. Three, four, five, six, seven – ouch!
Six seconds to burn the match, seven seconds to scald my finger.
Eight, nine, ten – drop.
Ten seconds and the blazing match plummets into the waters of the toilet bowl below.
With five of us under ten years old, deploying matches as an ‘after business air freshener’, or ‘smoke after stools’ strategy, could promptly be critiqued as a mother’s giant leap of faith, trust in the Old Testament tenants of punishment where provoked, flippant folly, or mad moments of insanity. For us, it was a dance with the devil, hardcore hazard, a contest of confidence or perhaps even pyromaniac perfectionism.
We never did burn down the house, or even burn a hole in the lino floor that I can remember. There were close calls. A few scorched toilet wall posters boasted scars of broken boundaries. Rolls of toilet paper destroyed by daredevils. Burnt matchboxes told tales of narrow escape and tiny- black at both end- sticks floating peacefully, announced a mission successfully accomplished.
Secrets of lavatory jeopardy and fire freak-outs remain locked tight amongst siblings, in a family where competition has always been paramount. Or perhaps the expensive introduction of Airwick air fresheners has dulled memory, lulled lies or replaced stories with a scent of complacency or compromise. But the Redhead safety match, fire and ash ‘smell scheme,’ has burned bright beyond childhoods. Struck into educational action with a red, potassium chlorate, sulphur and phosphate combo. A mother’s confidence in a ‘match striking after motions’ mantra has set precedents for a blazing set of life skills unscripted and unorthodox.
One, two, three … I feel challenge
Four, five, six… there is defiance
Seven, eight, nine… risk smokes
Ten, eleven, twelve… there is boundary
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… I am bold
Sixteen, seventeen… pain shudders
Eighteen, nineteen … respect reminders
Twenty, Twenty-one… I yield.
In the room of risk and reward… shit happened. Was the Redhead responsible for reckless abandon or risk evaluation? Can we blame her for pyromania paranoia or a practice of problem solving? Were her flames flickering vulnerability or igniting resilience? Did she have confidence and competition manufactured into her matchstick? Or perhaps she reserved judgement in anticipation of outcomes?
Before the age of sanitization, air fresheners and helicopter parenting, we survived. With house still standing, confidence boosted, and fear parameters established, we moved beyond the four corners of flames into the fiery plains of life. Underpinned with an unexpected, unconventional, and potentially unidentified message, of a mother’s encouragement to, “Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.” Jennifer Lee