How I Electrocuted Myself 7 Times and Finally Became Superman
My poor mother
I was five or six years old, holding the Christmas tree lights cable in my hands. “Get back from that Christmas tree, Paulo!” my poor mother yelled, terrified.
We had been to this rodeo before.
She laughed nervously. “Yes, yes,” she said to my aunt. “He shocked himself just the other day. But you learned your lesson, didn’t you, Paulo?”
“Yeah, mom,” I said, dripping with all the confidence of youth. “But this here box thingy attached to this cable can’t have any electricity in it, can it? If I just stick my finger in — ”
ZAP!
Merry Christmas.
Sticking fingers into wall sockets was my thing.
I was very smart, you see. My school gave me a test and labeled me a “Gifted Child.” My mom wept with joy when she heard. Or maybe she was weeping with dismay — “He’s so smart but doesn’t know what a fucking wall socket is!”
In South Africa, wall sockets have BIG HOLES in them, and I had these LITTLE FINGERS. And is it my fault my parents forewent the water pistols in favor of “educational toys” where I was supposed to put “LITTLE OBJECTS” inside “BIG HOLES”?
