Fire

I was about twelve years old when, somehow, I managed to get “in” with a group of older kids. We hung out all the time, watching Jackass, CKY, and Viva La Bam—shows that felt edgy and rebellious, the kind of stuff that made me feel like I was doing something just a little dangerous.

We had fun. Sometimes, we’d prank call random people and laugh until our sides hurt at the stupidity of it all.

But then there was that one sweltering July afternoon at Minnie’s Field.

Minnie’s Field was this big, open stretch of land overlooking the water and the bridge. It was a favorite hangout spot—usually harmless. That day, though, we decided to light single blades of grass and stomp them out.

It started as a stupid little game. We’d light a blade, watch it burn for a second, and stomp it out, laughing like idiots.

But then I lit one that didn’t stop.

Instead, it shot through the field like the entire place was drenched in gasoline. Within seconds, the dry grass was an inferno. Flames tore across the field so fast that I barely had time to process what was happening.

Panic set in. I ripped off my brand-new shirt and started slapping at the fire, desperate to put it out. I had a Gatorade bottle filled with water, and I squeezed it out over the flames, accomplishing absolutely nothing.

One of my buddies lived just down the street from the field. I sprinted to his house in a full panic and told him, “Minnie’s Field is on fire—and it’s my fault!”

He laughed, waved it off, and said it’d be fine. His calmness helped me catch my breath.

But when we walked back to the field and he saw the size of the flames, his calm disappeared. He started freaking out too. It was a nightmare.

His mom ended up driving me home. We ate supper that night—chicken and salad. I remember every detail of that meal because the tension at the table was unbearable. My dad’s face said it all, and eventually, he lost it.

The firefighters showed up and got the fire under control. Thankfully, no one was hurt.

But even now, I can still picture those flames. I can still see how quickly fire races through dry grass, how it feeds off the smallest spark.

Lesson of the Day Don’t play with fire.