I was about 5 when my parents took me camping. Didn’t like nature back then, still don’t. Only thing I like is the wind, and I had to get used to the weird smell.
Anyway, when it was night, my dad brought out the ingredients for the s’mores. He stuck a marshmallow on a stick, put it in my hand, and guided it towards the fire. Told me not to burn it.

“Why not?”

“Because this is what happens.” He moved it close enough to light on fire, and it turned black before my eyes. The flames were blue instead of red.

“Whoa.” My dad grinned.

“But if we keep doing it, we won’t have any s’mores to eat. So keep it this far away.”

We went camping a lot after that. My dad taught me how to use his lighter properly at 7 and what to gather to make a good campfire. When grade school ended, my dad let me burn all of my old work. He told me he’d let me, back in first grade. The JA books took the longest to burn through, and the flickers reached my height.

I’ll remember it forever, and I’ve seen quite a few in my lifetime.