A pane in the glass

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One pane of glass. One red, white and blue basketball. And one frustrating day in the window repair business. 

 My father was very good at repairing windows. He had plenty of practice. Our backyard was our arena, our stadium and the scene of many sporting errors. 

Who done it?

It all started on our one-lane road.  Every homeowner could hear the crack of the bat and then the smash of a ball. Where it came from, no one knew. We split, leaving the bat suspended just above the dust cloud. Not a kid in sight. Who done it was an unsolved mystery. All they could see was the weapon, the bat, the ball and the glass now littering the living room floor.

Opps

Things were different in our backyard. A wayward slapshot way upstairs. Crash. A change-up and a foul tip. Smash. Today's error: a basketball. A hook shot, nothing but air and glass. Bang. Shortly after the initial impact we heard something else, my father cuss "Friggin Kids" It was the only f word my dad was allowed to use. My mother's favorite f word was "frost" as in wouldn't that just "frost you" I knew what frig meant but I was clueless to frost. It wasn't my father's first rodeo, not the first time he'd have to clean up after the clowns. So, with a fistful of fake money, he went to the only place that would accept it, Canadian Tire, for a pane of glass and finishing nails. I wonder if they had a supply put aside for him. Custom-made. Here comes Joe again. 

Hangups

Some of the blame should have gone to my grandfather, who thought hanging a basketball backboard from the bottom of the flat roof would be a good idea. Somehow, he forgot about the windows behind. Still, his heart was in a good place, even if the basketball net wasn't.

Careful

Putting in a plane of glass is a delicate operation. It requires a steady hand. Our old windows were surrounded with small wood mouldings. This is meant to keep the pane in place. Finishing nails are used to keep the moulding in place. Sounds simple. And it usually is. That is, until you miss just enough to hit the pane and crack it. Something my dad tended to do on occasion. "Friggin glass"

 

Eventually, we grew up, and my parents decided to spend our allowance money on new vinyl windows. These new windows had three panes. We never tested them for durability. Now, the only reminder of our sporting errors left are the dented hockey puck marks on the siding. 

 

Friggin kids.




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