I blinked first this year.
Every heating season, like many households, we play the game of waiting as long as absolutely possible to begin the flow of gas to our furnace. I was humiliated in that effort this year. I made it only until noon on Sunday, Oct. 6 before I spun the thermostat to the right.
I should be ashamed of myself, I know. I have brought scorn to perhaps all men everywhere.
There have been years that it’s been well into month 11 that we bless our home with heat. We have a big, old house, and once that gas meter starts spinning, it isn’t going to stop until spring.
This year, a combination of things happened. In years gone by, I think we could have battled through these 30-degree outdoor temperatures. I had to face the fact, however, that perhaps I’m not as swarthy as I once was. I have become soft and not just around my midsection.
Our heating source is a boiler and we have those hot water radiators. It’s a fairly efficient machine, I think. At least that was what I was told a few years back when we had to replace our former heat blaster. When you’re heating with a boiler, I think it’s natural to wait to get that thing fired up. I remember a lot of cold mornings with a houseful of kids. They’re all gone, though, so it’s just me battling the morning chill. My wife won’t touch the thermostat by an unwritten arrangement. In a previous home, I kept it set at 66 degrees and urged those who didn’t like it to put on a sweater.
This year, I was hoping she’d violate that rule so perhaps I could have spared a little of my manly dignity. She didn’t blink, so I did.
The only other time I recall allowing heat in my home this early was that same year our old boiler died. Then, I was spared from the shame of it all by virtue of the fact that it didn’t work. A new unit had to be ordered and installed, and that took about a week. It was mid-October, and it was really, really cold.
I really can’t explain what made me snap this go-round. I was fully prepared to go the distance. No self-respecting man fires up a furnace the first week of October. I was positioned in my Lazy Boy, wearing a sweater, ready to watch some Sunday football. The scene replays in my mind over and over. It got to the point where I was going to cover my legs with a blanket. My coffee had long since gone cold. Before I knew it, I sprang from that chair. The next thing I remember was warmth. It took a while until the boiler boils and the glorious warmth started emanating from the walls.
The guilt from my action will stay with me for heating seasons to come. Today, though, at least I’m not freezing my backside off.