Today was dad's birthday.
My father is funny. Nowadays he sometimes almost gets angry with me (like for not phoning)...then he melts and starts to laugh.
My mum told me a story, she doesn't tell me many stories, about when I was really little and reaching out to touch the candlelight. Back then, candles and lanterns were our only defense when NEPA worked its magic...in the many years before we could dream of affording a generator.
Anyway, as you can imagine, this chubby black baby was hugely fascinated by the light of the candle. My mother was losing her cool because...what if I knocked it over, what if I burned myself...so she kept warning me away from it. I kept crawling back until my father appeared and solved the problem: he took my hand and helped me touch the flame for a second. :)
I can just imagine the scene - me crying at the top of my lungs, my mother mortified at my father's tactics of harming the baby, my father laughing and explaining I just needed to learn for myself.
He's always been a good teacher.
By the way, I still enjoy playing with fire.
Happy birthday to my smiling and dearly loved father.