Today Jake caught me red-handed. He unexpectedly popped open the door between the kitchen and the garage and spotted me doing something stupid with the table saw.
Clarification: For the sake of brevity I called it a table saw. It was actually a miter saw, which for the money, is a more efficient way to sever a limb. You don't want to use one of these after guzzling beers with the neighbor.
That's exactly the kind of stuff that worries me, too. That Boy is impulsive and he doesn't always think things through (hey, Dad did it, must be okay). TWC is old, I've been around tools most of my life. I have the experience to make a judgment call about what constitutes risky behavior. That experience is based upon first-hand knowledge of the operational mechanics behind the equipment and how different kinds and sizes of materials will likely react when in contact with the 12 inch blade spinning at a high rate of speed.
So with visions of severed wrists, arterial blood spurts, tourniquets, and a claw instead of a pitching hand dancing through my head, I'm lecturing him. Don't you ever let me catch you doing something like that. Never pull the blade guard out of the way. That saw'll cut your hand off...just like that (dad snaps his fingers). And as he looks me in the eye without comment it occurs to me that there is simply no way for him to understand this in the context that I do, which is exactly why kids need parents in the first place.