A science teacher, I am not.

Sometimes I blame my missteps on my Catholic school education, heavy on discipline, lean on learning. However, I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge my general lack of common sense (that I can blame on genetics, right?) And have I mentioned that I hate school science projects? My nine year old wanted to do an experiment with soda, so we concocted a plan to see how temperature affects the amount of fizz it makes when a can is opened. It turns out that an ice cold can and a room temperature can release a near equal amount of fizz. A hot can? A can that has been sitting in a pot of boiling water? That can won't just let out fizz, it's explosive. With barely a twist of the tab, this can shot like a gun and sent a violent stream of root beer straight into my son's eye while I stood on like an idiot with a video camera filming the whole thing. In the aftermath, I saw the shredded metal peeling out the top and thought of the shrapnel that might have ejected straight toward my son. We were both so shaken, and when I hugged him, his hair and cheeks smelled like root beer.

We didn't just learn science, but a crucial lesson in safety. Fortunately, he won't be teaching his own kids that lesson with an eye patch on. Just the other day my eldest son asked me for help with his memoir. Now that I could do.