Pollyism of the week
Having been born and raised in subtropical Auckland, moving to Christchurch as a child was quite a temperature shock.
It was all good for Dad. My father was raised in Central Otago, so cold was not an issue. Mum, however, looked perpetually startled for the first three months we lived there. Poor woman had only known Auckland for 38 years. It took her minutes to realise our one little fan heater wasn’t going to cut it.
It must’ve been hard for Mum living in a motel for three weeks in a new city. For me, it was cool fun. I got to room with my big sister who normally ignored me and I discovered this new thing I’d never seen before – an electric blanket!
I was amazed that this new fandangled device meant a hot-water bottle was no longer needed and confused that you could lie on something that had electricity running through it. Even at six years of age, that seemed a bit risky.
I remember examining the cord leading from under my sheets to the wall, then running through to the kitchenette, yelling, “Daddy, Daddy, we’ve got electric beds!”
My father replied, “Yes, I know, but we don’t use those, love. We don’t turn those on.”
I was a bit relieved and also a little bit disappointed. But I ran back into the room where my sister lay reading (her fave activity) and loudly whispered, “Don’t turn your bed on. Daddy said no.”
“Great,” my sister said. “Now go away.”
I would have, had there been anywhere to go, but I made paper dolls instead and chatted to myself.
My family stayed in Christchurch for a year and when summer arrived, it was the most glorious summer ever. The sky was blue and the heat was amazing.
It was only many years later, having never used an electric blanket after heeding my father’s obscure warning, that I remembered to ask Mum why Dad didn’t like them. “Well,” Mum started, “it’s because of all the crispy people.”
I stared at her wide-eyed. “The crispy people?”
“Yes,” Mum continued. “Your father was in the fire service for many years, as you know, and back before technology made things safer, he attended a number of electric-blanket fires. He said he saw ‘crispy people’.”
Right! That was enough for me. I don’t care how amazing electric blankets are. I don’t care about cosy and comforting. I don’t care about being all snuggly and warm. All I can think about when I see an electric blanket is crispy people!
I guess my instincts as a six-year-old about being a little suspicious of lying on electric wires was a good one – and even if it’s no problem in 2018, I don’t ever want to risk becoming a “crispy person”, thanks!