When I was six I lit a cruise ship on fire.

 And this is how the story went. Me and my family were headed down to the Bahamas one summer for vacation. I don’t remember much about it, but I do remember that on the second day, a Sunday, we went to eat in a Japanese Steakhouse on the ship, you know the kind, where they cook the food right in front of your hungry little face. It was awesome.  Here’s two different things about me that you might want to know: one, I like to cook, or pretend to cook, and two, I like to burn things I don’t know what to do with.  It’s kind of a double-edged sword, I think. So, of course, after watching Chef Kitchi Kachi Motto do his thing, I decided to try my hands at it. I grabbed the nearest napkin and the nearest candle and alakazam, I had fire…which probably wasn’t the best thing that could have happened at that time. I kind of glanced side to side to make sure no one was watching, and then I threw my massive ball of fire into the corner of the room. A few minutes later, and there you have it, one restaurant sized flambé.

When I was seven, I accidentally broke $6,000 worth of crystal sculptures. I was walking with my mom into a glass sculptor’s shop and I guess I was pretending to be a monkey or a dog or a beaver, something cool like that. I pushed my legs back to take my one final leap to the other side of the room, and, as I jumped, I felt my leg push against something hard. I heard a creak and then giant crashes, one, two, three of them. My eyes dropped in horror as I saw one row of shelves after another tumbling down to the floor in domino effect.  I peed my pants. That’s not even a joke. I don’t think anybody in the whole world has ever been more terrified for their lives than I was right then.  And the strange thing about it was that the store manager immediately came up to me and said, “are you alright?” Then he looked around and said, and I quote “don’t worry, son, it happens all the time.” He grabbed his broom, and started sweeping up. That was all.