We all love fire. It brings us warmth and plies us with that calming sense of having beaten nature and the elements. In our family home, we had two wood stoves and a fireplace. In the cold Canadian winter, they gave our family a sense of security and peace. One of my many mandated house-based tasks was to fill up the wood box; it always emanated that inviting, sensuous smell of fir or cedar. This forms a wonderful memory.
Fire, of course, has to be controlled. One of my brothers, Marc, was fixated on fire. He loved its glimmer and its hypnotic dance. Eventually, his love became uncontrollable; at first a tiny spark, it soon grew into a raging inferno. It became self-evident that he was a real pyromaniac. Matches were his elixir. You can appreciate that fifty years ago, if you were eight years old, matches were not easily acquired. We did not smoke, nor did our parents. This, however, was not a ready deterrent. He ingeniously acquired them from friends, classmates, and the occasional stranger.
Next to my parents’ home was a lush, abandoned orchard. In summer, the grass grew to almost a meter high. On this particular day, his mania was in high gear. His normal technique was to set a small fire and quickly snuff it out. This time, the gods were against him. He assembled a small pyre and set it ablaze. Suddenly, a breeze erupted and captured the gyrating flicker. In an instant, the fire was racing along the tops of the wavering grass and catapulting into the ancient apple trees. Disaster! Fortunately, the village volunteer fire department was quickly in attendance, and the blaze extinguished. This occurrence seemed to expunge his fiendish desires. No fires were set in the future.
Where I grew up, there was little snow but an abundance of rain; winters were wet and cold. Long before the concept of a clothes dryer, my parents had a drying room. As a child, I remember being always wet and constantly undressing in this area. One particular day, the stove would not light. Frustrated and after innumerable tries, I relented and snuck into my father’s “forbidden” workshop to steal something to assist in the combustion. The choices were many. Erring on the side of the expedient, I chose gasoline, knowing that it would light, without question.
Stealthily slipping back into the aforementioned room, I liberally sprinkled the liquid on top of the twigs and paper assembled in the stove. I convinced one of my younger brothers to hold the lid as I threw in the match. The lit match touched the material, and for a brief second, nothing. Then, a primordial sound emanated from the stove followed by a wash of flame. My shirt literally fell off; much more horrifying was my blond brother’s eyebrows: gone, along with the front of his hair. He began to weep uncontrollably. Feeling no compassion, just the wrath of my mother, I instructed him to cease and bundled him into the shower to wash away the ciders lying on his face and hair. In the washing, I instructed him — rather forcefully, I must say — to keep this unfortunate incident between us “men.” My mother, being a woman, would truly not be able to understand manly pursuits like lighting errant wood stoves.
We had a large dining room. I sat beside my mother and opposite my slightly burned brother. Ours was a boisterous home and we were a rather close family. My mother’s hawk-like eyes, however, soon began to fix their gaze on my brother. “Francis, why are you so red?” I stared defiantly at the tragic victim. “Talk and you know the consequences,” I instructed with my eyes. “I don’t know, Mommy, maybe I am a little sick.” My mother, not truly convinced, let the conversation die. My brother recovered — and to this day, I have retained a healthy respect for fire. From Friedrich Nietzsche (1) – not a person you normally associate with ancestry: In family life, love is the oil that eases friction, the cement that binds closer together, and the music that brings harmony. (Parts of this essay were first published in 2012)
A closing thought: I am sure that all of us can identify with the exploits that occur when we are young. They build strong and irreplaceable memories. It has been shown that a lack of strong family bonds is a precursor to a troubled and difficult life. (2) The British boarding school system, for example, produced its own complications but gave its attendees a sense of loyalty, family life, and, ultimately, adherence to the values of empire. (3)
To sum up: This week we spoke about family life and some of its experiences.
To be noted: From Archbishop Desmond Tutu (4) — You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.
Just for fun: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7y9hIjH_7do&ab_channel=AramisEntertainment
For reflection: Monasticism — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4TDuIOmYcg&ab_channel=ChristianYouthChannel
This week on your fun-filled walk, please be thankful for your own family life.
Every day, look for something magical and beautiful.
Don’t be a wage slave –critical thinking is great!
Quote:Make your family values a part of your life.
Footnotes:
1) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wHWbZmg2hzU&ab_channel=TheSchoolofLife
2) https://getmarlee.com/blog/family-values
3) https://medium.com/@malorynye/british-values-an-empire-based-on-distance-and-difference-aabc938ecc3e