Handyman
My dad is at it again. “Mr. Fix It” they call him, or so he says. Last month, a tree branch fell onto our roof in the midst of a windstorm, and Dad declared that he could fix the hole in our roof without a problem. Many cold nights and eventually some professional repairmen later, it was patched. Last Friday, the vacuum cleaner puffed its last, and Dad promised that he would revive it. It still lays quiet, God rest its soul. Today, it is the bathroom sink faucet. It’s leaking a river, and as Mom frets about the next water bill, Dad continues to pound and clank various parts of the sink and plumbing. Outwardly I cheer him on, as a good daughter should, while I surreptitiously thumb through the Yellow Pages.
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