After falling from the top of a grapefruit tree and knocking myself clean unconscious, and riding my bike at top speed into the neighbor’s mailbox (not once, but twice), I came to the conclusion that I was the sort of boy who probably belonged indoors. For everyone’s safety.

And so I found myself rifling through Dad’s tool chest one hot afternoon. I was proud of the “skateboard” I had just built by nailing casters to some plywood, but I knew I could do better. I was an inventor, like the great Thomas Edison. As such, I needed real tools, serious materials. I needed electricity.

And then I saw it.

In the top drawer was a two-prong DC connector, freshly clipped from an old extension cord. Just the kind of thing I needed to make real machines. I grabbed that sucker, jammed a paper clip into it, and plugged it into the wall. I was a stupid kid.

My dreams of becoming the next Edison went up in smoke with my hair; the closest I came was Benjamin Franklin. But I was just glad I didn’t too thoroughly fry.