The Shower Curtain Rod--chapter one

  "Honey," my wife said to me, giving me her sweetest smile. I knew something was up. "I need you to fix the shower curtain in dad's bathroom. It fell."

Again? I thought to myself.

"I just fixed it," I told her.

"Fix it again," she told me back.

"It can't be broken."

"And yet it is."

Again? I continued to think. Again? I must have fixed that darn thing--what?--eight, nine, ten times? It seems I retired from a job I enjoyed doing just to spend my retirement fixing my father's shower curtain rod.

"The problem," I told her, "is that he uses the curtain for support when he gets out of the shower. We have the same kind of rod in our shower, and how many times has it fallen. Zero times."

"Just fix it," my wife said, thus ending the conversation. What she didn't tell me was, "He's your father." My wife is good that way. She just tells me to fix the things he breaks.

That's the funny thing, at one time my father could fix anything, and I mean anything. During World War Two, he built a washing machine while fighting the Japanese. Well, not exactly while he was fighting the Japanese, but while he was stationed in the jungles of New Guinea, and occasionally fighting the Japanese. I don't know if washing machines had even been invented yet or if that was an original invention of his, but since I'm not getting paid for this, I'd rather write this story than look up unnecessary facts. I know that story is true, because I've seen pictures of the washing machine. Basically, it was a 25-gallon barrel fixed to a Jeep.

Just then, my father walked in. 

He sat down. 

Ready to kick ass or eat breakfast, and his knees were too stiff to kick any ass.

"What happened to the shower curtain, pop?" I asked him.

He looked over his shoulder to see what my wife was cooking for him. She wisely kept her back to us.

"It's broken," he told me.

"What happened?"

"It just fell. I could fix it, but I know you like to take care of this stuff."

I don't know where he got the idea I like to fix things. I remember, when I was a boy, I once told him when I grew up I'd always hire somebody to fix things for me. He laughed at me, and, when I grew up, I understood why he laughed, even though I was offended at the time.

"It sure does break a lot," I told him, dropping a hint so big you could drive an Army truck through it.

"Yeah," he replied. "It sure does."

My wife put a plate of food in front of him, and my father started to eat with the enthusiasm of a man who doesn't have to constantly fix the same shower curtain.

"The problem is," he continued, pointing a forkful of scrambled egg at me, "there's something wrong with the rod in the shower area, it keeps falling. They just don't make stuff like they used to. The stuff is cheap. Those characters that built this house knew they were using cheap materials. That's why the rods keep falling by themselves."

"Not the rods," I wanted to tell him. "Your rod. The rod in my shower is fine." .

My wife glanced over her shoulder to see my reaction. It reminded me to keep my temper. I take issue with my father telling me we live in a cheap house. My house is not cheap. I'd tell you how much it cost us, but I don't want the No Kings protestors protesting on my front lawn.

So I fixed it. What's the big deal?

And three more times before the month was out, the rod came off the wall.