Solidarity Forever

My dad is very independent. He doesn't like anyone to get water for him. He feels uncomfortable if I give up my chair for him at the table, because he likes his seat a bit away from the rest of us. When we swing dance, he leans back and away, and claims it's for better velocity. I would doubt it. But Daddy, in case you are reading this: I love you, and you are a swing master.

Yesterday, while cleaning up for the eminent arrival of N (who is here now, peering over my shoulder with each click of these keys), we were assigned to construct a shelving set for my bedroom. The pieces had lain there for months, dust-covered and breathed over like additions to the floor. Grudgingly, I sat on top of one of the pieces and Daddy began to read the instructions. Cam bolt here, screw there, became rhythm of screwdriver on wood as we installed side one. Well, I say 'we': As he installed side one.

"Can I help?" I asked. "Can I please do this side?"
"No, I think I don't need you right now. Maybe later."

Instead, I was assigned to dust (more details in 'Chlent'), and each time I sat down on the second floor landing to rinse out and wring the sponge, another shelf appeared. He was building up as high as he could go, and I was soon that sure the whole thing would crash to the floor. Still, there was always another step to master, another piece to dust off. He didn't give up, even though he "didn't care." Remember. Learn.