The Washing Machine

On the afternoon of the day I photographed the dead mouse I had my usual day-before-my-birthday dinner with my father and his wife. It was nice and lasted just long enough. We had seafood and we talked mostly about food but we also managed to talk about the washing machine they had recently purchased. It seems they had a lot of complaints about the new device which mostly had to do with the energy saving features. That fact alone should tell you something about my father. He still thinks the energy crisis is a myth and that there is enough oil for countless bored generations to endure. He also thinks we can find that oil here in America. He is very emphatic about this. In any case, I think he did get something right about the washing machine.

"Here's how they getcha'," he said slightly scowling. "It's got a smaller motor, see, so it runs fewer watts per hour but I'll be damned if the thing doesn't run twice as long. So, you tell me; how does that help a single solitary anything?" He looked pretty serious as he said this; his snow-white brows gathering like clouds above those green eyes and that Cherokee hook of a nose. There was no argument available. His logic was impeccable.

I love my father, and despite years of friction between us, there is nothing really left to iron out. We have differed widely in our views over the years, but hell, the guy is eighty-two years old and he is still alive. I think that must count for something. He also still manages to let me know he thinks of me sometimes and I try to do the same. We are father and son but we are also brothers. There is something subtle which is understood; a stand-offishness which is hard to describe. We can laugh and talk about the most mundane technical trivia. We can go on and on about something as simple as the quality of drywall. We earnestly contemplate the hard facts of things. We share anecdotes about material and the handling of material. We have important tales to tell of production and politics. We whisper and confide about the wonders of mechanics and electricity. My father has taught me many things. He has instructed me wisely in many matters and so I listen. I listen to him about the washing machine and so many other seemingly insignificant things. The man is still with me and I hope he remains with me. He is the real raw grit of me. He is also exceptionally kind.

Author's Note

Something from a larger work; soon a book.

Reviews

[bob, small b. aka invs]

parents really never leave us. that can be good or bad. sounds like in the case of your father, that's a good thing.

[bookworm]

As I mentioned before, you have a fantastic writer's voice. You give excellent details with the narrative that draw the reader in...its all in the details, but in balanced proportions. The only part that I thought it started fading was the last 3 or 4 sentences. My sense was that perhaps those affections you're expressing about your dad would be more accessible if you were to describe them with examples of the characteristics being exhibited as opposed to just stating them as fact. Other than that, I thought it was a great start.