Growing up in my father’s house, one thing was an absolute: Deviation (from), delay or failure to follow his rules/instructions was unacceptable and punishable by death. My sisters knew it, my brothers knew it, my mother constantly reminded us of it, and me? Well, you know…
So I know you’re asking yourself, “What did this boy do now?”
Ain’t that always the way?
My father worked at LaSalle Steel in Hammond, Indiana. Of the three shifts, he usually worked 1st (7a-3p) or 2nd (3p-11) shift, oftentimes pulling a “double” (shift). We almost always knew his schedule so I had a “good feel” for how and when to avoid a “BAD feel” of the belt. But ehhhhhvery now and then, I miscalculated.
It was my week to wash dishes and, as always, I wanted out of the responsibility. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do the work, I was just eager to get back to my songwriting or book reading (well, I didn’t want to do the work either). On THIS particular night, it was the former.
We finished dinner without Dad because he was working a double that night. I sat there at the table, bargaining with my older sister Denise to no avail. I begged her to switch with me or at least take that night and she promptly reminded that not only was I not good for keeping my work-related promises, but I’d only beg her to switch THAT night as well. I didn’t bother asking my brothers because they’d remind me of something I did to them, for which, they still hadn’t forgiven me.
I was stuck.
So what did I do? Well, the dishes had to be washed and since he wasn’t going to be home until after 7 a.m., I did as any obediant child would…
…I hid them in the oven.
Zzzzzzzzzz
…3 a.m.
Lesson For The Day: Nothing quite prepares you for the heart attack-inducing jolt you feel when a molten steel-handling hand puts the snatch on you during Stage 4 sleep.
Thought For The Day: There is no better sleep than the one you get after a good ol’ fashioned, bacon, eggs & grits butt-whoopin’.
…and I still had to wash the dishes.
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