julie warshawI have never slammed a door in my life. I can think of few things, growing up, which infuriated my father more. Old dads hate loud noise, among other things. They hate it when you chew with your mouth open; laugh too loud at cartoons and turn the knob on the television too quickly. They don’t like it when you’re in the kitchen while they’re making their lunch. It drove my dad nuts when my little brother or I didn’t finish our milk. He would scrawl our names on the side of the plastic cup with a pink construction pen and put the cup back in the fridge. But you gotta feel for old dads. At a time when their peers are planning retirement and enjoying visits from their grandkids, old dads are going to little league games, ballet recitals and listening to twenty minute recaps of the latest Disney Movie, as told by a seven year old. Anyone who visited the Washaw house remembers Bert’s kitchen sink label; warning against the horrors produced by faucets closed too tightly. As I age, I’ve realized that my dad’s past ability to contain his desire to dictate appropriate behavior via label to a single sink-related instruction is downright impressive. What’s more, he did it so politely.

←100 words a day

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