My father sits on his faded orange rocking chair in the living room. He is watching the news on our new black and white TV. Walter Cronkite is saying, “And that’s the way it is.”
As he gently pets our dog Andy he absentmindedly stops. And Andy pushes his wet nose up into my father’s palm until he starts stroking his head again. 
My father shouts, “Marie could you get me a cup of coffee.”
Marie is my mother’s name but my dad usually calls her Mom. My father is the king of this castle.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table staring at my spelling words. I’m supposed to be memorizing them for a test tomorrow. But instead I’m kicking my sister Karen’s leg and she’s pinching my arm under the table.
My Mother is busily wiping the kitchen counter unaware of the silent battle Karen and I wage just five feet from where she stands. We know better then to make any noise because my father doesn’t put up with any boloney while Walter is discussing the world news.
The problem is Karen is left-handed and I’m right handed. We’re both stubborn and refuse to change seats, so every time we try to write or turn a page, we bump arms. The battle would be on. My mother calls out in her sweet voice, “Be right there Harry.”
She fills his cup and adds three teaspoons of sugar and brings it into the living room wrapped in a dishcloth. My father has diabetes but he doesn’t let that affect what he eats, or drank. He adjusts his insulin shots depending on his blood sugar level.
His drink of choice is watered-down ketchup. My Mom places the cup on the table next to my father and warns him, “Be careful Harry, it’s hot.” Looking down at Andy, she says, “That animal has the life of Riley.”
My father loves Andy and lavishes all his attention and affection on him. Once a week he walks down to the corner store and buys him an ice cream cone. Karen and I sit there with our tongues hanging out wishing we could get a lick in, as he holds it to Andy’s mouth.
My mother would offer the same reframe, “Oh Harry you’re spoiling that dog.” Then she glances over at the two of us with a look that says, there’s not much I can do about it.
After we finish our written homework, my mother quizzes us on the spelling words. If we aren’t sure of the spelling, she’ll give us a little hint by saying the first two or three letters.
That night I have math homework. I hate math, hate it even more because my father tutors me when I have trouble. This is a daily occurrence. He’s very good at math. My father is the Head Bus Dispatcher at PTC. which stands for the Pennsylvania Transportation Company. He’s been working there forever. He created the procedure of scheduling the buses and trollies that’s still in use today.
After I complete my math homework my father says, “Give it to me. Let me have a look at it.” I lived in terror of this moment every day. My father expects nothing less than excellence and perfection. I feel I’m far from excellent. He would go over each problem, while I sat on my hands because they’re sweating. Praying that they’re correct.
He makes me so nervous I can hardly think straight when he asks a question. He looks over at me and says, “How did you get these answers? Show me the work, do this problem.”
I stare at it for a moment, my mind is a complete blank. I ‘m afraid that I will disappoint him again. He says, “What are you waiting for? Get to it!” I finish the problem.
“Let me show you how you are supposed to do it.”
He shows me how to do it his way. I look up at him, afraid to speak.
“Well?”
“Dad, we use the new math, we don’t use your old math.”
“Old math, what are you talking about, old math?”
“But Dad, that’s the way Sister Joseph Catherine told us we have to do it.”
My father’s is a very bright man. “Alright Susabelle, use the new math at school. But when you need to do math in your life later on, you’ll see that my way works better.”
“Daddy, When Sister Joseph Catherine calls on me, she says, Hey you, and not my name.
“Well Susabelle, just tell her that Hugh is your father’s name not yours.”
My father doesn’t make jokes very often but when he does it would behoove you to laugh along with him, even if it’s at your own expense. After our homework is finished, we all go and sit in the living room to watch TV. I hear, “This is Walter Cronkite and good night.”
My mom sits down probably for the first time all day. She has a cup of coffee, and we watch Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. My dad’s favorite show. Andy lays asleep next to my father’s chair, snoring quietly.