Dad used to travel the midwest selling baler twine for a company headquartered in The Cities. For large orders, the company gave away a token of its appreciation. This was either a Zippo lighter or a tape measure that looked just like a Zippo lighter.
We used to have a big doings at our church on the Fourth of July. Part of the fun was setting off firecrackers that had made their way from South Dakota to our little slice of Heaven. I was using one of Dad's Zippos when it ran out of fuel. Since we lived not far from the church grounds, Dad went home with me to refill it. I can still picture him holding it over the kitchen sink, squirting the fluid from the yellow and blue can into the felt until it overflowed and ran down his arm. This was followed by him flicking the roller and the flame appearing above the lighter and instantly sweeping down his arm. This happened so quickly that he was not harmed, and we went back to the festivities, me with my lighter and Dad with one very hirsute arm and one arm that looked like an ad for Nair. The adventure continued that evening when we returned home and Mom wondered why the house smelled like the aftermath of a fire in a barber shop.
