Inspired by Ms Moons' post, I'm gonna tell on my dad. RIP, poppa.
Way back when in the dark ages when I was young, the house my parents lived in had a broken spigot outside by the garage. So dear old dad decided to fix it one day. He turned off the water at the main which, I believe, was in the house. (By the way, my mother was gone to the store). He goes at the spigot with a soldering gun and, um, sets the shingles on fire. In his haste to turn the water back on, he ran up the front stairs and grasping the railing too firmly, broke it off. He turned the water back on and put out the fire.
Whereupon, my mother returned to find a) a broken porch railing b) scorched shingles on the house and c) a still busted spigot.
That's my father. He believed he could fix anything. And he tried. It just didn't always work out.
I bet an argument ensued.