It was a couple of weeks before Christmas. I couldn’t have been no more than five years old. I loved this time of year. What kid didn’t? The snow that came up past your waist. And as a kid that was totally possible. The stores were decorated with holiday cheer. The house was covered in garland and Christmas knick knacks.
In the front corner of the living room stood the six foot Christmas tree. It was wrapped in pretty lights. The big kind. The C7’s that raised the temperature of the room by five degrees when they were plugged in.
When the tree was plugged in and it’s full glory was on display I was in awe of it. During the day my mom didn’t ever plug it in. It was more of a night thing unless it was actually Christmas day. All I could remember was how awesome the tree looked last night before I went to bed.
“Mom will you plug in the Christmas tree please?”
“No, I’ll plug it in later tonight.” She said not giving it a second thought.
Later that day my mom must have gone out to get the mail or went to the bathroom or something. All I knew was that I was alone with the tree for a couple of minutes. It called my name.
Now over the short time I had lived and had been moving around of my own free will my mom had always told me to not play with the electrical outlets. But as far as I was concerned I wasn’t going to be playing with one. I was using it for its purpose. So that made what I was about to do okay.
I grabbed the plug in my small five year old hand and started to push it into the outlet. Then it sparked out of the outlet and at me. I pulled that plug back out and dropped it on the floor. I had been shocked that even though I wasn’t playing with it the outlet could still spark at me.
Needless to say I didn’t go back over to touch that tree again that year.