theoldwolf

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Time: About 1953.

Standing in a dark kitchen, turning the burners of our old gas stove off and on, watching the pretty blue flames come and go. Without warning, the oven exploded in my face: I had turned on that "middle" knob, without knowing that the oven had no pilot light and had to be lit with a match. (Remember, I'm about two at the time.) The oven had filled up with gas, and as soon as the next burner went on, woof!. The oven door banged me in the forehead, but shielded my face and body from the flames. My hair was singed and I had a nasty contusion where the door hit me, but there was no other damage.

My mother told me later that for months, any time I heard a loud explosion (common in New York, as they had to blast bedrock to dig foundation cellars), I'd get this faraway look in my eyes and ask "Boom?"