I’ve got a memory that sticks with me from when I was a skinny, crew-cut, tow-headed and barefoot kid in short pants all summer long, with not a care in the world except “back-to-school” shopping. (When I was about seven or eight years old, I think.) This story isn’t about me, though.
We lived near some neighbors on the lake who were always getting into scrapes of one kind or another. One time they had an old wooden rowboat with an outboard motor, and as they were fueling the hot motor near shore one day it caught fire. Not a huge fire, and no lives were in apparent danger, but they were not managing to put it out by throwing water on it. In fact, it was starting to float the fuel that was also in the boat and threatening thereby to “float” the fire onto the boat and threaten a lot more.
My mom – who impressed the hell out of me on that day – came down to the shore, sized up the situation instantly and called out to the boaters (and the others on shore who had come to offer up advice or just gawk), “Throw sand on it!” They did; it worked quickly to extinguish the fire, and boat, motor and onlookers were all saved. I never forgave her. I wanted them all to burn.