The Caged Bird Sings

Dad’s side of the story.

A week of snow was over. I hadn’t heard from the Weebles. Wasn’t sure if no news was good news, but I was worried about the threat to lock Dad out in the snow.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. How’ya doin?” I was relieved to hear his voice.

“The usual.”

“Did you go singing yesterday?”

“Of course.”

“Did she lock you out of the house?”

“Yes.”

I laughed. Ma was always as good as her word.

“What happened?”

“I went singing. When I got home she had all the doors locked.”

“How did you get in?”

“Well, I was in the garage, looking for some tools to take the door [inside door from garage that leads to a small porch off the kitchen] off its hinges, but I didn’t have the right tools. I do now, though!”

I didn’t want to tell Dad how ridiculously easy it was to break into the house. Himself used to help me all the time when I was a kid and either lost or forgot my house key. One didn’t need to remove the door hinges, and the only tool needed was a screwdriver.

Dad was amazingly calm, and he laughed as he related the details. I expected him to be singing arias in tongues about Ma.

“So, how did you get in?”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t have the right tools so I was just about to walk over to Stop and Shop and get something to eat and @#$@#$ her!”
I didn’t mean to laugh.

“She must have heard me banging around in the garage,” Dad continued. “And she unlocked the screen door.”

He didn’t relate whether there were more fireworks, and I thought it prudent not to ask. I was just relieved to hear he wasn't in the hospital with a severe case of hypothermia or frostbite.

“Well, I just wanted to check to see if things are ok.”

“I appreciate it. Listen, I’m not going to tell her you called.”

“Ok.” Just Dad’s little way of tit for tat.

Ma’s side of the story

Ma called to chat. Dad must have gone out and she was lonely or ticked at him, or both.

Curiosity got the better of me.

“Did he go singing?”

“You know him.”

“Did you lock him out of the house like you said you would.”

“Of course!”

Like I said, Ma's as good as her word. With Dad out of the house, she doesn't have control over him.

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Jackie Gleason’s show “The Honeymooners” is still going strong and Ma and Dad have the lead roles.

“What happened?”

“He was in the garage yelling and banging around.”

I had the image of the Flintstones with Fred locked out of the house after he tried to toss the sabertooth cat out for the night. Wilma! And Fred pounding on the door.

I lost some of the details and caught her explanation, the crux to the matter.

“Well, he goes out of the house and he leaves me for hours all alone. I’m afraid to be alone now if something happens, I have no help.”

Six or seven years ago now, Ma had a stroke while she was home alone. Dad had gone singing. Ma had gone outside to sweep leaves from the back walk when it happened. She sat outside on the ground for two hours until one of the kids coming home from school happened to hear Ma’s call for help.

“Still, you shouldn’t lock him out of the house.”

I could see her shrug an I don’t care.

I’ll have to remember to play the hole card next time. If you lock Dad out of the house, and something happens to you, how will he get in to help you? How will the rescue people get in? Maybe I should leave a screwdriver under the front mat.