Painting the Basement: What’s a Little Coat?

When I was still in diapers (ah, so you’re one of those constant comedians saying I’m still in one, eh?)… my sister apparently decided it would be a good idea to paint the basement for our father.

Blue.

Sure, maybe he was planning to paint the floor that color, but I doubt it.
Well, anyway, my older sister (who must bear full responsibility for this lunacy) orchestrated the whole plan and by the time I and the concrete floor was covered in blue paint, whatever hope there had been of salvaging said basement was lost.

I have no recollection of my father’s reaction when he returned home from work or if he tried to undo the damage, but when I headed off to college and they sold the house before I made it back the following summer, that section of the basement remained blue (albeit faded nicely by then).

Sometimes you just got to roll with those punches. Sometimes you can’t fight the tide of time (or a two-year-old whose sister was already an expert at getting him in trouble).

When you’re faced with tough times and unexpected circumstances, what do you do? Do you get mad? Do you plan out revenge? Do you ground that little rascal?

I’d like to think I’m mellower than I was in my younger years and that perhaps I’d laugh if that happened in my house, but when you boil away ego, you know the truth.

My father built his basement office around that blue room and while there’s a picture to tell the tale, the fact that he never painted over it is testimony that somewhere in the distance, across the chasm of time, he was always reminded of what his two little tykes did while he was pushing through another tough day at work.

​​May we could all be so lucky to have memories like these (even if they only come from a picture… and a story). Maybe those memories sustain us when the growing waves of time starting crashing over us when all we desperately cling to is some blessed air to breathe.