One day, when I was about five or six years old, my brother Jon had just finished cooking fish sticks in the oven. The oven door had been opened and the fish sticks were sitting there on the pan cooling. For at least a minute, nobody was around but me.
I was hungry and getting impatient waiting for Jon to return.
I didn't know if the pan was hot or not but I remember thinking the five-year old equivalent of "screw it, I’m just gonna touch it." I reached down and put my thumb on the pan. It sizzled. I was burned.