Quick Dad, Slow Dad
I remember the first few times I saw my father exude a blend of fear/panic/anger. Each time it was brought about as a direct result of something that I did. Like the time he left me in the car with the engine running and the emergency brake on.
The car, a stick-shift, was parked in a parking lot in our back yard facing a two story deep gully. These were the days before child restraint systems existed, so I was sitting in the front passenger seat. I had always been fascinated with the spring loaded button that protruded from the end of the emergency brake handle, and in experimenting with it succeeded in releasing the brake.
My father heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway as the car began slowly rolling forward. I did not get to see the explosive burst of speed that brought him to interior of the car as I was still fiddling with the emergency brake. My quiet examination of this mechanical wonder was abruptly interrupted as my body was thrown into the passenger side door with the swipe of a hairy forearm. The brake engaged with the sound of a giant zipper being pulled up and I felt the car jerk to a stop, although I didn't know it was ever moving in the first place. I heard heavy breathing and looked up to see the face of a man who was both angry enough to kill me and at the same time terrified that I might have died before he had the chance to do so.
Just one argument for having your children earlier in life rather than later. You may feel less prepared financially, but you'll still have the youthful quickness it takes to rescue your child from disaster in those inevitable hair raising moments. When the need arises, it's infinitely more valuable than a 401k...