My grandpa set his house on fire as a kid.
To be honest, I don't know if it was my grandpa or his brother that did it. My grandpa has been gone for close to twenty years now, and I have heard the story both ways. The story is the same, but the guilty party might be Bob instead of Ken. But for the sake of the tale, we'll say it was my Grandpa.
Grandpa and Uncle Bob were boys. And no, I don't mean that is the stating the obvious sense, but more that they were boys who acted like boys. They got into a lot of trouble, and had a lot of fun. One day, Grandpa was told to go get some firewood and start a fire. Being the type who liked to exasperate his mother, got the firewood and then asked, "Where should I light the fire?" His mother, having five kids in a short period of time including twins (yes, that's where I got it, thanks, Great-Grandma!) answered sarcastically, "Where do you think you should light it? In the middle of the kitchen!"
Once again, sarcasm was lost on him. Or, he was just such a stubborn little boy that he decided that this would be the one time he listened attentively to his mother, because light a fire in the middle of the kitchen floor is exactly what he did.
As far as I know, he didn't burn the house down, but there was quite a bit of damage to the kitchen, and the floor needed to be replaced.
And my mother is saying she sees a lot of Grandpa in Drew. Between my Grandpa's genes and my Dad's, I think I'm in real trouble.
So when someone calls and asks how the kids are doing, and I answer, "Well, they haven't set the house on fire!", it's not just a joke or an exaggeration. I'm actually pretty pleased with that one.
I think I'll stick to using the furnace.