Catholic High School For Girls - Silver Sands Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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The Hang of It I WAS only a little tot, but I shall never forget the time my father and his assistants papered our parlor. Mother was about to call the paper- hanger for the job, but Dad said he could do it in less than two hours. Mom was delighted. My brother jack and his friend Bob volunteered to help Dad. Soon they were all ready to begin. Dad's first attempt to cut the paper Qon the floorj resulted in the casualty of one rug cut into two pieces. This was only the beginning! A friend of the family's, Mr. Dixon, stopped in to talk to Dad for a minute and after he had gone, Dad returned to his job in time to find that Jack and Bob had started putting up the paper. It looked all right until Dad noticed there was something wrong with the design of the liowers on the wall paper. They looked droopy, and no wonder. The paper was on upside down! Then my older sister Betty lent a helping hand. She and Bob had 'A' il' If: fun to watch the people As they hurry on their way, But where their destination is I really cannot say. NANCY Dnrrnrcx, 'Sl By Joan M. Robinson, 'Sl one whole side of a wall finished, the next time Dad looked around. Of course he thought it looked profes- sional until Mom asked, What did you do to the window that was on that side of the room? It seems a little dark over there. Yes, you guessed it. They papered over the window. Then Jackie came into the parlor and tripped over a pail of paste. It went sailing all over the paper they had ready to hang. I thought nothing worse could hap- pen, but I was wrong. Just then Dad slipped from the ladder, receiving a few cuts and bruises. In the excite- ment of rendering first aid, Betty brushed her elbow against Morn's precious Chinese vase, and in a second it was scattered on the BOOT in a thou- sand pieces. There was a moment of silence which was broken when Dad, speaking from the floor where he sat nursing his bruises, said gently to Mom, I think you'd better call the paperhanger, dear. 'A' Snip, snip, Se-w, sew, Rip, rip, Woe, woe. Teresa Reed, '51 1' -4

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Tm: 1949 Sxnvmx Sums ference from her. However, the screens usually have to be straightened and adjusted and require all sorts of nails and screws. Mamma is not particularly fond of Papa's manner of wielding a hammer, nor does she have confidence in his method of placing nails: therefore, Mamma proceeds to give directions which Papa never understands. Her efforts to impart her ideas and Papa's inability to com- prehend often get quite loud, and the noise of Mamma and Papa together with the noise of the hammer makes any kind of concentration by their children well-nigh impossible. Mamma can be heard to exasperate, joe, it's a good thing God made you a boss. You don't appear to be much good for anything else. Shortly thereafter, Papa will seek the solace of his arm chair in the living room, and casting his eyes, martyr-like. to the ceiling, will ejaculate, O Lord, nobody knows what I go through l However, it is my private opinion that Papa is capable of a really pro- fessional job if Mamma would only get out of the back seat, for I recall the two-inch patch that he so skillfully applied to our screen door this year and the air of quiet satisfaction and pride which emanated from him throughout the entire day. Contrary to the usual order in families, when they plan to go out, Mamma is always ready before Papa. Papa's hair-do can be the source of maddening delay. Mamma restlessly waits downstairs and sputters inter- mittently, ujoe, for heaven's sake, hurry up I Papa is upstairs engrossed in the problem of covering a broad dome with a few hairs. It presents a. challenge, but Papa has become quite skilled. With the aid of a long, slender comb, he spaces each hair with mathe- matical accuracy, and with the aid of a wide, flat hairbrush, he plasters them into position. His patience, his ap- plication and his technique are wonderful to see. On occasion, when a nettled Mamma and a self-satisfied Papa finally leave our portals, a play- ful breeze has been known to play havoc with his coiffure and instantly ruin the tedious work of an hour. I see the years already beginning to settle upon my Papa, although he is yet remarkably slim and grace- ful of figure. I behold him quietly hard-working and conscientious, and when I notice that his hair is less blond and a little whiter, I am aware of the sweet comfort that pervades my life and the wonderful opportunity he has made available to me, and my heart wells up with love for my Papa.

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