The fire started two days after my Grandmother, Elsie Smith was born.   Both she and her mother were badly burned.  Her mother called her, "My bad luck child."  Unable to care for her, she gave her to her spinster sister, Aunt Polly, to raise.  It was no easy job.  Grandma was was a character to be dealt with.  Unfortunately for her aunt she got in trouble at school because she talked incessantly.  The Headmaster called Aunt Polly to his office to have a "talk" with her.  The upshot was that Elsie would go to bed every night immediately following dinner even when it was light outside. 

Polly provided her with reading material, the classics, and by the time she was sixteen she was well versed.  Her love of reading excelled even her love of sports.  My flamboyant father taught himself to  read when he was five. He looked at the letters on the lard can and decoded them on his own. He and his brothers won all of the elocution contests in their community and performed in most of the theatrical performances in high school. 

At a very young age, I believe a bit of that fairy dust rubbed off on me.  Its a kind of "fire" that starts out as an idea,  then kindles into the ember that burst into flame!