Duct tape, car sun visors and my father

Man has a new best friend. His name is duct tape and he does not bark. Duct tape is my father's best friend. If the basketball backboard is splitting in half, duct tape is the solution. Rust on the car, broken yard tools, and even a pair of old shoes are repaired with some good old duct tape in my house, or shall I say the areas of the house where my father has reign. Duct tape is not as great a friend to my mother or anyone else I know for that matter, '--'-'--------' but not many people are like my father.

the Nifty Fifties for lunch when this great conversation sprouted. Between bites we discussed our views on the hazards of colored plastic versus clear transparent plastic. He claimed to have heard that brushing with a colored plastic toothbrush would inevitably make a person terminally ill over time. I still think he invented his argument on the spot that afternoon.

I am happy to report that I do not have to worry about my calorie intake with all the laughing I do at home.

Renei Di•Pietro pe1spectiveeditor

My father has brown hair, . brown eyes and a rounded stomach from his love of Italian food and wine. He is also full of the craziest advice you will ever hear come out of a sane person's mouth. Let me introduce you to my father a little more closely so you can understand why my family refers to him as fun but also crazy.

I bought a car last year. A week after the purchased I found myself arguing with my father about car sun visors in the middle of a department store. He believed a sun visor was extremely necessary. I did not agree. But my father was sure that without a sun visor my car windows would explode from the heat. We went back and forth for a while but he won and purchased the visor.

My father also warned me of the dangers of brushing my teeth with a colored plastic toothbrush last year. We were at

Of thenumerous predictions made by Noshe recorded for the intended date of 1: of St. Vincent hospital

For starters, one of the most visible landmarks of my father's uniqueness is the "No U-turn" sign we have at the top of our driveway. We have lived in our house for 10 years and around year eight u-turners began to upset my father. U-turners were a problem mainly because when they made their turn into and out of our driveway their cars left scrape marks on the driveway. Not as slick as they hoped. My father began to hassle the township weekly to see what could be done to solve this problem. The township sent over the sign by the end of the year. I think they had heard enough by then.

This week the U-turn visitors are not the problem instead it is a homegrown. A different individual won the title of being the crazy one of the house. He is my brother.

My brother made a quick stop home after work on Friday, Sept. 7, before going out. He needed to check the answering machine. As he ran inside he forgot to put the car in park. When he came back out he saw that the car took a little joy ride down the driveway into my neighbors' row of bushes. My brother, being 16, decides a note is the best way to leave the situation, not to my neighbors but to my father.

Quotes televised over CNN throughout our moments of terrorism...

After I read the note and looked at the brushes my first reaction was, "Duck tape is not going to fix this."

My father is handling the situation pretty well. Actually his new dilemma today is shaking hands with people at church. My grandmother, who is 90, had her hand shook the }Vfongway last week causing a pinched nerve. Now my father will not shake hands with people outside of the family during the sign a peace. He just looks at everyone and yells, "Peace, my hand is broken."

I hope you found these stories a slight bit entertaining. I have one more left. But it has nothing to do with duck tape, sun visors or eolored plastic toothbrushes. Last semester I was working on a long report and I ripped my final draft into a million pieces and trashed it before realizing that the draft was my most recent one. I needed it badly to complete my Spanish final. Th~ report was eight pages and I did not have the time to sit and look through the recycling can for all the pieces. My father knew what was going on and that I was miserable having been so dumb.

In an hour's time my father went through all the recycled paper of that week and pieced together my entire report with tape without me knowing. The report looked like an important document from the 1800s when he was done. He brought the drafted report to me without saying a belittling word. He did not complain or tell me I needed to be more responsible. He was just the nicest father in the world. The moment is one that I will never forget and now when my dad tells me his latest craze I just listen and have fun with what he can come up with next.

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