As the title might imply, this blog will from time to time look back at stories of my childhood and assorted Rempe lore. For starters, I thought I would begin with the story portrayed in the above banner—what has come to be known to friends and family alike as “the butter knife story.”
In recent years, some have called into question elements of this account. The objections generally center around the nature of household current, and its ability to propel small children considerable distances. To this, I can only say that I remember what I remember, and the images from that Sunday morning remain firmly entrenched in my brain. Nobody has ever questioned that this is something in which the story’s principals would have participated. In fact, the story could help to explain a lot about the Rempe brothers and our development (or lack thereof).
With that caveat, and operating under the premise that absolute truth should not be allowed to get in the way of a good story, I offer a cautionary tale – one that will be shielded from my offspring until they have learned the dangers of conductivity. I give you “The Butter Knife Story.”
It was early on a Sunday morning. I was about eight years old at time—roughly the age when you start realizing that sleeping in can actually be a good thing. Alas, younger brothers Doug and Bill had not yet reached that stage in their development.
“Steve! Get up! You have to see this.”
Doug was bouncing with excitement. “You really need to see this!” he repeated. Before I could protest, he had thrown the covers of my bed open and had pulled me halfway out of the bed. Knowing that resistance at this stage would be futile, I grabbed my glasses and followed Doug into the living room.
I half-expected some major destruction as I rounded the corner. Instead, I was greeted with the sight of younger brother Bill, still in pajamas and with uncombed hair, seated on the floor. His feet were straight out in front of him, about a shoulder’s width apart, facing the far wall.
“What’s he doing?” I asked?
“Just watch,” Doug replied.
There were two things that I had failed to notice upon my entry into the room. The first was that between Bill’s feet on the wall was a standard two-prong household outlet. The second was the all-metal butter knife he was holding in his left hand.
Continue reading “The Butter Knife Story”