When I was five years old, I was a monster. I loved the sound of breaking glass, car crashes on television...any sort of (non-lethal) destruction. My best guess is I was heavily influenced by Warner Brothers cartoons in general, and Roadrunner Vs. Coyote specifically.
That must be why when my mother brought me to a stranger's house in suburban Detroit circa 1970 (we were there to look at a poodle, I believe) I took it upon myself to kick in the bass drum of another kids' pint-sized set. There was no malice intended; I just wanted to see what would happen. It was, up to that point, the best single second of my life.
My mother rushed me out of the house while handing over some cash to the mom, and while I can't remember my (well-deserved) punishment, I'll always hold the crime of kicking in that bass drum close to my heart.
This Jack White story reminded me of my own misadventure, except in this case, White was the guy who fixed the problem with cash, as opposed to my mom.
Anyway, I'm sorry to that little kid (probably not Jack White, though we both ARE from Detroit) and have always wished I could make up for what I did to his drum set, and probably his dreams of becoming the next Chris Partridge.
We didn't get the poodle, by the way.