A Tale of Two Houses

I was washing a frying pan this morning and I fiddled with the faucet to adjust it to spray mode. It works but you have to make sure that the duct tape that keeps the leak in check isn't disturbed. The faucet head is cracked. Kid 1 got tired of the leak about a year or so ago and bound it with tape. She did a good job. No more leak or not one that squirts water at you and soaks your sleeves.

There is water damage to the walls in the living room and an ominous rectangular patch has appeared on the ceiling.  Kid 1 informed her father that soon the shower stall will crash through into the living room. She has the location wrong.  It's the floor in the front bedroom that is slowly being seduced by gravity. Outside, the deck is rotted through and a gutter is hanging over the driveway. Meanwhile, the driveway is scattered with pieces of broken roofing tile.

About a mile from here lives Dad. He lives with his wife, toddler and step-son in a house that is pristine. There is a new roof on the house and a nice new brick patio for barbecues. The lawn and hedges are trimmed by a landscaper who comes weekly. The house is lovely.

I was reflecting on the differences between the house that he left behind and the nearly perfect one he lives in now. I suppose he might consider it a metaphor for his life with us and his life now. He is happy living in his lovely home.

But my kids don't care about Dad's happiness. They see the storm door and its peeling aluminum patches facing the street and for them it's a metaphor for neglect. Their house isn't shabby chic--its just shabby and its likely to stay that way for a while longer.

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