When I was growing up, we didn’t put all our trash into landfills – we separated out the paper trash and burned it in our back yards. I’m not making that up! It seems like a much more efficient way to dispose of things than landfills, but I digress.
When I was in 4th or 5th grade, my neighbor Denise and I discovered the joys of this activity. My family (like most) had a burn barrel and my dad would regularly burn its contents. Denise and I decided that we ought to be able to partake in this particular ritual, but knew instinctively that this would not receive the parental blessing, so we started burning trash secretly behind our garage.
We’d look around to make sure no one was watching, grab a gob of papers from the burn barrel and retreat behind the garage to have our little bonfire. Oh, it was great fun! I doubt that we considered that it might be dangerous. There was something so mesmerizing about watching the flames take hold and spring up, gobbling away at the paper until it was all ash and the flames were gone. One time we burned everything and were rewarded with finding a quarter that had been thrown away by accident. Like compulsive gamblers, we were ever hopeful that the next batch of papers would bring more coinage.
We did this regularly until one of the neighbors saw and ratted on us, unbeknownst to us. My parents called me in and Denise was sent home. I had no premonition of looming disaster, but felt a little uneasy at the timing (we had just finished a burn). They got right to the point: “Lynn, have you and Denise been burning trash behind the garage?” I admitted it right away and was given a short lecture on the dangers of playing with fire, which pretty much convinced me to retire the matches.
A knock came at the back door. In marched Denise’s father with a weeping Denise in tow. He was pretty mad. He had confronted her with the same question and she had denied it, so he brought her over to get my story. You can imagine how uncomfortable THAT was. I was pretty sure Denise was heading for some parental discipline after they left, having gotten my side of things. Oh dear.
That story was told several times to my children to impress upon them the importance of honesty, even when there might be unpleasant consequences. Better to tell the truth and take what comes, than to tell a lie and get more painful consequences when the lie is found out. After Denise and her father left, my parents commended me for being truthful with them and I never forgot that lesson.
I’ll probably burn this blog post in the morning. Where are the matches
Lynniebeemuseoday 