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| My two older teenage brothers, (the Siamese cats), decide that they would like to know if a fully set, four legged dinner table, would still stand up, if one of the legs were removed. |
| I stood in the kitchen
doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. My sister was cooking
supper in the kitchen. My brothers had set the table in the dining room
for seven people - my father and his six children - my mother
had died shortly after my birth.
My father was expected
home from his work within the hour. He had asked that the dining
room table be set with his new set of porcelain china dishes. Peter
and Paul were having one of their teenage discussions.
They chose to remove the leg at the far end of the table in front of the door my father would come through. It made no difference which leg they removed but they went through a convoluted discussion to decide which leg would have the honor of being removed They set to work on their experiment. The table leg was attached with a large bolt. Paul took the nut off the bolt. Peter lifted up the corner of the table - Paul easily slid the leg out of it's notch. Paul crawled out from under the table and stood beside Peter. " I'll place my hands an inch under yours and you slowly let go of the table" I could see the two of them from where I stood in the kitchen doorway. A few moments passed - the table didn't fall - filled with self confidence they both raised their hands into the air above the table. Paul was triumphant. "See - see I was ...", before he could finish the sentence the table tipped like a quickly sinking ship that had been torpedoed by an invisible enemy of the deep - my father's new dishes slid down the table deck crashing into each other as they formed a white pile of broken dishes in front of the door. Peter yelled "see !
- you were wrong" Paul yelled back " It was working but
you breathed". After a bit of back and forth blaming My sister
interjected with "Dad is coming home - we have to do something".
Paul yelled " we need a story that we all stick to". . The most imaginative
story they could come up with on such short notice was, "the leg
fell off the table" - that's it - no other story
- "we'll stonewall on the leg fell off the table".
Within a few minutes I had positioned myself at street end up on a roof and hidden by a chimney I waited. It wasn't too long before I spotted my father walking down Cumberland St. towards Water St. My father had been an architectural student when the depression ended his dream. He then apprenticed to a group of English cabinetmakers making and repairing fine antique furniture. It didn't pay much but it fed his family through-out the depression. My mother was sick much of the time. My father's parents would come every day and act as guards to prevent the neighbourhood vandals from stealing our food while my father was at work. The depression had ended, the second world war had ended - my father worked overtime in the war industry - it was the late forties and he was still single parent. It was time fro me to report back to my brothers. Like the good little scout that I was, I ran; climbed and jumped back over fences and roofs to report my findings . When I arrived they were busy using the broom and dustpan to shovel the mound of broken dishes into a metal garbage container. They had just finished when they heard my father opening the front door. My brothers had decided on the strategy that, attack was the best means of defense, so they rushed to meet my father at the door. "Dad you're not going to be happy about this, but you'll never guess what happened." Before my father had a chance to say anything, "We had the table all set for supper and the leg fell off". "the leg just fell off the table" "We were just standing there and the leg fell off" - "all the dishes just slide off the table onto the floor", - "we didn't do a thing" - " honest" My father came in looked around sat down - just sat there not saying a word.
keith o'connor
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