By Stephen C. Schultz
It was a warm summer morning in Eugene, Oregon in 1967. I was four years old, walking around the house, located on Harris Street, looking for something to do. I decided to get out my Hot Wheels tracks, you know, the orange plastic track that was held together with the purple tongue. I would connect them until I had a track that was probably fifteen feet long. I’d take one end and place it up on the fireplace hearth, roll it up so I had a loop in the middle, then run the other end to the edge of the couch.
Mom was busy with a new baby, and on this particular day, I was up early enough to see dad getting ready for work. The bathroom door opened to a short hallway that could be seen from the living room, where I was playing Hot Wheels. My father took his electric razor and plugged it into the wall and began to shave. He finished shaving and brushed his teeth, then walked by, said good morning and left for work.
There I was…four years old and alone. Oh, mom was in her room, but she was back asleep having been up all night with my baby brother. My sister, at a little over one years old was still in her crib. That shaving thing dad did was amazing. This motorized machine you slide over your face that makes a buzzing sound and the whiskers are gone! WOW!
I decided to check it out. I went into the bathroom, which was a small bathroom with the toilet on the wall across from the door. The sink was simply a porcelain sink attached to the wall to the left, and the tub/shower was on the wall to the right, directly across from the sink. There was one of those mirror/cabinets on the wall above the sink. Directly below the mirror and right above the sink faucet was an outlet that my dad had plugged his razor into. The razor was unplugged, I turned it on. It didn’t work. I flipped the button up and down a number of times; the cord must go back in the wall. I plugged it in…it worked! I stood there with my chin barley above the edge of the sink, running the electric shaver over my four year old cheeks.
This was a magical thing, this razor. What did the wall outlet and cord have to do with this? Why did it work when it was plugged in and didn’t work when it wasn’t? What happened next, I will never understand. Four year old minds simply work in mysterious ways. I unplugged the cord from the wall, looked around, and closed the bathroom door. I must have known I was doing something bad, since I closed the door. Probably because I had my hand slapped every time I reached to touch a plug ever since I was a baby.
I put my hands on the edge of the sink and jumped up. Then again, I jumped up. On the third time, I could lock my elbows, and then I leaned forward, and balanced on the edge of the sink with my stomach. I turned on the water, stuck my head under the faucet and filled my mouth. I lifted my head up and…spit the water right into the outlet above the sink!
It felt as though someone had punched me in the mouth. I flew off the sink, staggered backward, and fell crossways into the tub, hitting my head on the opposite wall. I sat there dazed for a bit, not having a clue what had just happened. I slowly crawled out of the tub, made sure the razor was where my dad left it, and slowly opened the bathroom door. There was no movement, there was no noise. No one heard a thing. And as far as I was concerned, no one needed to know!
What should I do next…the tree, that’s it, the tree in the yard needs climbing.
It was a warm summer morning in Eugene, Oregon in 1967. I was four years old, walking around the house, located on Harris Street, looking for something to do. I decided to get out my Hot Wheels tracks, you know, the orange plastic track that was held together with the purple tongue. I would connect them until I had a track that was probably fifteen feet long. I’d take one end and place it up on the fireplace hearth, roll it up so I had a loop in the middle, then run the other end to the edge of the couch.
Mom was busy with a new baby, and on this particular day, I was up early enough to see dad getting ready for work. The bathroom door opened to a short hallway that could be seen from the living room, where I was playing Hot Wheels. My father took his electric razor and plugged it into the wall and began to shave. He finished shaving and brushed his teeth, then walked by, said good morning and left for work.
There I was…four years old and alone. Oh, mom was in her room, but she was back asleep having been up all night with my baby brother. My sister, at a little over one years old was still in her crib. That shaving thing dad did was amazing. This motorized machine you slide over your face that makes a buzzing sound and the whiskers are gone! WOW!
I decided to check it out. I went into the bathroom, which was a small bathroom with the toilet on the wall across from the door. The sink was simply a porcelain sink attached to the wall to the left, and the tub/shower was on the wall to the right, directly across from the sink. There was one of those mirror/cabinets on the wall above the sink. Directly below the mirror and right above the sink faucet was an outlet that my dad had plugged his razor into. The razor was unplugged, I turned it on. It didn’t work. I flipped the button up and down a number of times; the cord must go back in the wall. I plugged it in…it worked! I stood there with my chin barley above the edge of the sink, running the electric shaver over my four year old cheeks.
This was a magical thing, this razor. What did the wall outlet and cord have to do with this? Why did it work when it was plugged in and didn’t work when it wasn’t? What happened next, I will never understand. Four year old minds simply work in mysterious ways. I unplugged the cord from the wall, looked around, and closed the bathroom door. I must have known I was doing something bad, since I closed the door. Probably because I had my hand slapped every time I reached to touch a plug ever since I was a baby.
I put my hands on the edge of the sink and jumped up. Then again, I jumped up. On the third time, I could lock my elbows, and then I leaned forward, and balanced on the edge of the sink with my stomach. I turned on the water, stuck my head under the faucet and filled my mouth. I lifted my head up and…spit the water right into the outlet above the sink!
It felt as though someone had punched me in the mouth. I flew off the sink, staggered backward, and fell crossways into the tub, hitting my head on the opposite wall. I sat there dazed for a bit, not having a clue what had just happened. I slowly crawled out of the tub, made sure the razor was where my dad left it, and slowly opened the bathroom door. There was no movement, there was no noise. No one heard a thing. And as far as I was concerned, no one needed to know!
What should I do next…the tree, that’s it, the tree in the yard needs climbing.
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