When I was eleven years old, my parents, always “early adopters” of the latest technology long before this kind of thing had a name, bought a brand new stove with a smooth white ceramic top. It was called a Corning Cooktop, and its most memorable feature, at least to me, was that its elements remained white even when they were hot enough to boil water. Was it really that hot? You had to take it on faith — or not. No matter how long I stared at it, I could not convince myself that the white ceramic stovetop was hot. And that is why I still remember, all these many years later, the perfectly oval burn on the tip of my right index finger. I only touched that hot stove once, but that was all it took. I did not cry, even though it hurt a lot. I just stared and stared. I could not take anyone else’s word for it; I needed to see for myself. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even tell anyone in my family. I just needed to know. Continue reading →