Family

Family

Mr. Fix It

I don't fix things. My dad did. He was born in the depression. They had to make things last. He didn't call for a fix it guy. He fixed it himself. He would take the toaster out in the garage and take it apart. He started out happy and whistling. Two hours later he was banging and yelling at the toaster, "What's wrong with you, you damn toaster??!!" We knew then to high-tail it for the hockey rink or the mall.

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