Remembering Mom & Dad

My folks loved each other and could more easily be caught kissing than fussing. But there were times...

Dad subscribed to several newspapers, which baffled my mother in the first place. "Isn't the news the same?"

Dad didn't just read a paper. He dove in headlong and immersed himself. He matched stories to see if they WERE all the same. As a result, most mornings the living room looked like the New York Times exploded.

That drove my mother close to the edge. If poor Dad needed to abandon his papers while he used the bathroom, Mom moved in like a stealth bomber, and when he returned, the living room was neat, pillows plumped, and not an inch of copy to be seen. He knew where to find the papers. In the trash.

One day, standing over the trash can in the kitchen where a world of knowledge had been disrespectfully dumped, Dad took a different tack with Mom.

In a soft apologetic voice, he said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I make your day more stressful. I'll just have the newsboy deliver the papers to the outside trash can and save you some steps."

Mom stared at him. Then she started to laugh.

Dad made an effort to stop festooning the house with newsprint and Mom stopped the trashing raids.

And then they were kissing. Again.