My dad was aplumber for the public works department in our town, so from time to time hecame into my school. Can you imagine sitting in class and seeing your dad peek through the doorof your classroom and wave at you? In junior high?
One girl in our classalways made fun of me becausemy dad was a plumber and hers was alawyer, and shewould say things like, “ that is gross! ” I must admit I was sometimes embarrassedby what my dad did, especially in my early teens, when the only thing I really cared about waswhat the other girls thought.
The girl lived a few streets away from us, and a winter day---the day her elder sister gotmarried---the toilet in their main upstairs bathroom cracked and there was water everywhere. Herfather called every plumber in the yellow book but nobody would come out becauseof the majorsnowstorm. His daughter told her father that my father was a plumber, and he called. My dad wentover andtook me with him(maybe he was hoping that the lawyer ’s daughter would be nicer to me.)My father fixed the toilet, helped to clean up everything, and didn ’t take a dime for the trouble.But aswe were leaving, he told the girl“If I ever need a lawyer, I ’ ll be happy to call your dad.”
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