He had  been in the kitchen only a few minutes, before he said, " there is something missing", "yes" my sister said. "What is it? " my father asked. My sister replied in a quite voice, "look at the floor".  My father looked down at the bare wood planks that his Grandfather had installed, when he built the family home in the 1860's  -  "there's no linoleum on the floor!  -   Where is it?" 

     Peter and Paul needed it ... and before she could finish, "What !" my father shouted. "They were making a boat and needed something to cover it with, " my sister said. 

     My father knew it was useless to tell my sister that she should have stopped them. She was only twelve and Peter was one year older and Paul was one year younger than she. After my mother died, my only sister was given much of the domestic work that occupied  my mother's day. 

     A helplessness mixed with anger, entered my father's voice: "where are they", he said. "They went down to the Rideau River near the railroad bridge",  was my sisters quiet reply. She had long ago learned not the be too anxious to describe the antics of her brothers, to her father, for fear her brothers would find her, too willing an informant. 

     My father took his coat from it's hook, walked out the front door onto the verandah, down the steps, over the short cement path to the sidewalk and turned towards the river. 

     He knew they were only kids  -  he had no money to send them to a camp,  where they would be supervised,  and have their energies creatively directed.  Their mother had died five years earlier, but she had been sick for a time before that. 

     He turned the corner off Water St. crossed King Edward St. heading toward the shady green tree lined park, the marked the shore of the Rideau River. He could see them, about thirty feet off shore,  in their home-made boat  -  no cares just having a fun time  -  he remembered as a young boy swimming  in that very river on a warm day like today.  

     They saw him standing on the shore. He waved to them with a, "come-into-shore arm motion". My brothers were not known for thinking about the consequences of their actions, 
they knew little about delayed gratification,  it was the momentary pleasure of, "now", that interested them. 

     True to form, my brother Paul, stood up, and  waved mockingly at my father, "nnya-nnya-unn-nnya-nnya  you can't get me",  an action, which resulted in his going through the bottom of the linoleum covered boat. 

     My father, watched his two sons swim for the opposite shore. He made no attempt to chase them, he knew they would come home when they were hungry.  He gave a last despairing glance  at his kitchen floor linoleum,  covering their half submerged make-shift boat   -   slowly drifting down river towards the Rideau falls.  He turned and began a tired walk home.  
 

keith o'connor   July 2001 
Ottawa Canada