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Posted to rec.woodworking
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5 year-old latex paint. Thank you all.
wrote:
Thanks Robert, that was a great story, and one that seems to be too much
trouble for todays fathers, those that are still around, to be bothered
with. I bet you guys feel blessed to have a father that cared enough to
bother.
--
Jack
http://jbstein.com
When we were kiddos, my Dad hated to paint or finish anything. So
one fine Sunday, my father and me finished up about 25 feet of wood
fence we replaced. We reset posts, built gates, all the stuff.
Well, the Cowboys were playing at 3 o'clock, and these were the golden
days of the Pokes, around 1970. Not wanting to be accused of being a
bad father in the state of Texas by keeping his son from see the
Cowboys play he decided on a plan that would get both (mainly him) out
of painting the fence.
He reasoned that since we had been the ones to work on the fence the
previous day (all day) and we had hung the gates and put up the fence
boards that morning, it was time to get my two sisters involved. So
he drug them outside kicking and screaming and gave them paint buckets
and brushes, and left them outside in tears while we went inside and
watched the game.
I was happy, and he was happy.
Along about halftime, he went outside figuring that they were waiting
for him to come out and inspect the job and clean the brushes.
But no.
They were COVERED with the barn red paint that was intended for the
fence. There was little on the fence, but plenty on them as they had
gotten into a "slap fight" with the brushes loaded with paint. I was
on their clothes, their faces, in their hair and on their arms and
legs. And there wasn't even enough paint left to paint the fence. I
was astonished. My Dad was overwhelmed.
It seems that they had decided that if they did a bad enough, sloppy
enough job that they figured they either wouldn't have to finish, or
at the least they wouldn't be asked to paint again. But when they
really got sloppy, they accidentally flicked paint on each other
during the process. It had escalated from a small slappy little
conflict of intentionally flipping paint on each to get even, into an
all out war.
Here's how you help your children learn.
Remembering this was almost 40 years ago, one needs to remember this
was oil based paint. A new "quick dry" paint, it was supposed to be
dry in just two short hours. My sisters had it on them about that
long. To help them learn the error of their ways, he gave them rags
and some turpentine to clean themselves up.
The more they scrubbed, the worse they looked and the more it burned
their skin. But if they didn't scrub, the red paint would stay on
them, and they absolutely had no doubt they would be going to school
the next day. They scrubbed, turned red as beets, and still didn't
get it all off. The probably scrubbed and burned and cried about how
unfair all of life was for at least a couple of hours.
They indeed went to school the next day, and I don't know how they
explained away their distinctly hued red complexions or frizzy hair.
Sunburn, maybe.
The next Saturday, they were up at bat with fresh paint. Dad sat out
near the fence in a lawn chair for a while and watched them, and then
we he was satisfied they wouldn't do it again, he let them finish.
Needless to say, the job went a lot smoother the second time.
Thanks for the memory. It is part of the family lore now, and it
makes me snicker to this day. And here we are 40 years later, and they
both still blame the other for "starting it".
Robert
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