I was always afraid of the sparks but in the end they were just what I needed.

Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gronk (pause dramatically) and I discovered fire.

(Hold for applause, wait 30 seconds. Make “be seated” gesture with hands.)

Thank you. Thank you very much.

(Smile humbly.)

Of course, as with any great accomplishment, I had help.

(Look at first row.)

Mom, I couldn’t have done it without you.

(Point to Mom if she shows up.)

Ladies and gentlemen, my inspiration and my best friend: Lucy Gronkowskiovitchson.

(Look lovingly at Mom and clap. Motion for her to stand. Don’t let it go too long.)

It was Mom who dragged those sticks and stones home after a long day in the field. She carried a bag of sticks on her back and at the same time––the same time, mind you––dragged a large rock behind her. When the nine of us got back to the cave after a journey that lasted the better portion of a sun cycle, she would roll that slab of stone into position so that all of us could sit around it at dinnertime. We referred to that part of the cave as the hard rock café.

(Hold for laughter.)

Where was my father in all of this? The honest answer is: I don’t know. None of us knew and Mom never said. I’m not even sure she knew. She told us that he was on a long hunting trip but when a few cycles of the sun became many cycles of the sun, we knew that Dad wasn’t coming home.

(Pause for effect. Dab eyes, if necessary. Play by ear. Look lovingly at Mom if still there.)

You were so brave, Mom.

(Pause. Gauge audience reaction before resuming.)

On those “sticks and stones” outings, as we called them, my seven siblings and I followed but kept our distance. Mom insisted on that and you can probably guess why. As she dragged that rock slab along the hard dirt road, it inevitably gave out little flashes of light as it struck other rocks. We kids would rear back in fright, but Mom––what a trouper––she kept going and assured us that those little flashes were stars that had fallen to earth. We now know them as sparks. But we had no idea what power they held.

I was about thirty-two seasons old at the time and naturally at that age I was a curious little boy.

(Hold up picture and pause for reaction to cuteness, etc.)

While my brothers and sisters were learning to tan pelts or fashion spears, I was drawn to the “stars” that Mom talked about. Surely there was more to those little flashes of light than what she told us. Sorry, Mom.

(Pause for laughter.)

So I began picking up smaller rocks and rubbing them together to see if I could simulate the little light show I saw on the road. I usually tried to find two rocks that were identical matches and rapidly rub them together.

(Pick up pace if audience starts to get ahead.)

Mom would come into the cave and see me doing that and, taking them from me, would say, “Gronk, don’t play with matches. You’ll make stars and stars are not toys!”

She’d hold a stick over my head and say sternly, “Just keep it up and I’ll make you see stars!”

(Hold for laughter.)

Fortunately, I didn’t listen. I continued my experiments using rocks of different sizes––some that matched, some that didn’t––and combined them with other materials like the sticks that Mom always had lying around. I just had to see if I could create those stars, those flashes of light that both frightened and fascinated me in equal measure.

And then one day, it worked.

Mom and my siblings went out looking for food but I stayed in, feigning illness.

“I’ll have Lucy, Junior stay here and watch over you,” said Mom.

“No,” I insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

So off they went and as they disappeared below that line in the distance, I grabbed my sticks and my stones and started rubbing. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. Sparks started flying and before I could say Tyrannosaurus Rex the whole cave was engulfed in flames. Fortunately, everything we had was made of rock, and by the time the family returned, the fire was out. I thought to myself, No harm, no foul without even knowing what that meant.

(Hold for laughter and applause.)

You know, they say there are no such things as coincidences.

(Say next part rapidly, increasing in intensity for good audience reax.)

If my father hadn’t left, he would have carried those stones back to the cave himself. But because he wasn’t there, it was left to Mom who had to drag those stones back home. If she hadn’t dragged those stones, they never would have sparked. And if I had never seen sparks, I never would have experimented. And if I had never experimented, I never would have discovered fire. And without fire, there would be no firewalls, no Fire Island, no fire in the hole, no fire-breathing dragons (yes, they’re real), no fire insurance, no romantic candlelight dinners, no fireflies, no fire sales, no “You’re fired!”, no s’mores by the campfire, no “Light my Fire,” no fire pits, and get this: no fire extinguishers or fire escapes––how ironic is that?––and I’d still be back at the cave drawing pictures on the wall or just trying to survive. Why, I get “fired up” just talking about it!

(Hold for laughter and extended applause.)

(Shift gears to warm and dramatic.) Yes, ladies and gentlemen, sparks may not have been what I wanted as a frightened little boy, but they really were just what I needed.

Thank you, you’ve been a wonderful audience.

(Wave to crowd, wave to Mom if still there, make quick exit stage left.)

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