I was three years old, and I saw an open can of Coors on the front porch.
I remember heading for it and putting it up to my lips and starting to drink it when my dad grabbed me, flung me up and knocked the can from my hands and lips.
The can was filled with paint thinner, and he was getting ready to soak the brushes from the house painting he was doing.
The next thing I remember is the light glowing in the kitchen as my mother talked frantically with the doctor.
Then she came to me with a huge bowl of ice cream.
That was 1973.
Submitted by Rob Littler.