belated wish

There is this story my parents just love to tell when the question ever arises as to whether I have a temper.

It goes something like this:

I'm about 8 or 10. It's a Saturday.  That's the day I'm supposed to clean my room.  Which basically means I have to vacuum the 12' x 12' bedroom, dust, maybe put some things away and make my bed.  Pretty simple stuff. For whatever reason on this particular Saturday I do NOT want to clean my room.  I'm mad at my mom and at the world.  I am vacuuming recklessly and throwing things out of the way.  I whip my hairbrush behind me and it goes straight through my bedroom window.  Horrified, I immediately run to find my dad.

He's out mowing and the sight of me running out of the house crying probably made him think I'd either broken a bone or killed my brother.  When I tell him about my infraction, he laughs and says it's no big deal because we have more windows in the shed.  Seriously, who's dad just happens to have 'more windows in the shed'?  My dad.  He's Mr. Fixit.

Fast foward about 15 years and I'm in the kitchen of my apartment in Porter Square making caramel corn.  Suddenly the oven starts billowing black smoke.  I immediately start to call my dad.  We still had a rotary phone then ( ! ) About half way through the 10 digits the kitchen is full of black smoke and I start thinking this is really serious!  and My dad lives in Connecticut!  WTF am I doing?! and I called 911.

This post was meant for Father's Day but I have been out of sorts.

I could go on but I think you get the point.  Happy Father's Day to my dad, who's always there for me when I'm in trouble...:)

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