Father's Day

Mom told me this. In the 1930's affordable houses were small bungalows built close to each other.....so close that there were very few secrets on Oak Street. Illinois summers, actually Illinois Julys, were 'sweat-heavy,' and oscillating (sic) fans from Montgomery Wards were pricey. The only fan in the house was near the kitchen, by the radio, and under the banjo clock. (Google banjo clock.)

On those 3-h (hazy, hot and humid) July nights everyone had trouble sleeping. All windows were open, of course, in a futile attempt to lure a little air in through the screens.  Mom and dad's bedroom windows and the neighbors' bedroom windows almost touched across that small space of yard between their houses. The air didn't do much circulating, but the arguments those neighbors had nightly came through loud and clear.....timed, usually, around midnight.

Finally, on one of those exasperating nights, the exhausted husband,  weary of his screeching wife,  bellowed out, "Why don't you just shut up?"

She screamed back, "You can't shut me up!"

My dad, worn-out, fed-up,  and totally fuming from those evening bouts next door, stormed out of bed, ran to the open window and roared  back, "Hell no. You ought to know that by now!"

Never again any nocturnal sounds at 140 Oak Street ....except maybe, now and then, a hoot from an owl or a hoot from my victorious father. 

Life is full of tiny triumphs. My dad had many.