When I was growing up I lived in a house with only one bathroom. In emergencies, I could always use the slop sink in the basement for no. 1 if not for no. 2. My father, when he was thinking of selling the house, decided to put a flush up toilet in the basement. Why did he wait so long? At any rate, because it was below the sewer line, the mechanism had to move the refuse up to the pipe. Home from graduate school and jobless, my father saw an opportunity for us to have a little home project. My father and myself sawed lumber and built a little enclosure. We even built a little exhaust fan. Then he ordered a flush up toilet from an ad he saw in the paper.
One day my mother got a call that the flush up toilet was ready. It was waiting at the Greyhound Station on Polifly Road. I was volunteered to pick up the thing. Sons are handy in that way.
After hours of work, the flush up toilet was installed in a cute little room. My mother did the decorating. Postcards from various family trips graced the walls.
One afternoon my father had some of his golf buddies over. I decided to smoke a j---t in the new bathroom I was just about to light it when my father started banging on the door. I managed to hide the j and chatted with the golfers about all the work I had done on the flush up toilet. We were all happy. Another minute and this story might have had a different ending.
Many young people are living at home now and I suppose similar stories can be told across this great land.
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