It was bound to happen sooner or later. I’m recycling a column.

Bill and Benita Shields, of Carthage, when recently going through some boxes, unearthed an old clipping of mine from June 21, 1987. I didn’t ask if they were using it as packing material or were saving it as a keepsake. I figured it was best not to know.

Bill passed it along, and I couldn’t resist using it today as a Father’s Day tribute to all the men in my family. The incident I share with you today really happened at my house some 22 years ago, but I’m betting the same scene has unfolded in your home too.

By the way, the accompanying cartoon by the late Nic Frising, makes this “oldie” all the more special.

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When I was a little girl, my grandmother once took me aside and gave me some words of wisdom that have proved true time and time again.

“Carol, being a woman in our family can mean only one thing. For the rest of your life, you’ll have plumbing problems,” forewarned Grandma as she led me down the outhouse path.

What Grandma failed to tell me in her little proverb was the real reason behind our water downfall.

It had nothing to do with our tubs, stools, sinks or faucets. Being a woman in our family really meant living with men who didn’t know a pipe wrench from a pipe cleaner.

Since today is Father’s Day, I’d like to salute the men in my life who helped provide me with my sense of bathroom humor.

First there was Granddad, who was great at passing out nickels and dimes, drawing pictures on his grandchildren’s tummies, and spoiling dinners with lots of cookies and potato chips. He died a few years ago, but I’ll always remember the way I felt about him when I was 5 years old. When I was little, he was the greatest granddad in the world.

But you know, little things like drips under the sink and stools that wouldn’t flush just didn’t seem to matter to him. The important thing was whether his cows got water every day.

He and Grandma moved around a lot, and every home had its own unique set of water problems.

“Just a little rust in the pipes,” he’d tell us kids when we came over and took our baths in water that looked like orange Kool-Aid.

Frankly, there were some of his houses that didn’t even have running water, but when you’re a kid, staying all night with your grandparents should be an adventure. Back then we didn’t even care.

My own father followed his dad’s footsteps. When we grew up, the plunger was always close by. As I got older and gained two sisters, we all had to share one bathroom. I soon lost my enthusiasm for bathroom adventure.

Daddy had quite a creative streak in him. He would use our bathtub in the winter to thaw out frozen hoses that he needed to water livestock.

“Mom, how am I supposed to take a bath in here,” I’d scream hysterically, just knowing the world would end if I couldn’t be clean.

Actually, mothers deserve all the credit we give them on Mother’s Day, and then they ought to share Father’s Day just for putting up with the guys.

Mother had great patience with the old hose-in-the-bathtub hassle, but her greatest endurance has been her 17-year wait for a remodeled bathroom. Seventeen years ago, my father thought our bathroom would be beautiful with marble tiles on the floor and marble walls. This is the same man who drags dirty hoses through the house, but still we all agreed it was a wonderful idea.

Well, the floor tile was put in place, and Dad only cracked a couple.

We admired it and admired him until winter set in; the marble tile was colder than ice cubes. By the next summer, the white tile started turning yellow and later became marble history. They now have blue linoleum.

Part of the marble for the walls was installed. The rest of it is out in Dad’s garage, sort of a marble monument to good intentions.

As you may have guessed by now, the man I married is not exactly Mr. Plumber.

Last week, he set out to install a simple faucet in the bathroom lavatory.

“Simple installment. No tools necessary,” read the instructions.

Billy proceeded to get as comfortable as possible in the small area, surrounded by two cats, two small boys, a box fan and a mound of tools.

I decided he had all the help he needed, so I began mowing the lawn. I was soon interrupted by my oldest son who was waving at me frantically.

“Dad says he needs you now,” Craig said.

I was greeted by my scowling husband who asked, “Are you going to come in here and help me, or are you just going to stay out there and mow the yard all day?”

It wasn’t long until I had to banish the boys to the other side of the house due to descriptive language. The cats fled on their own accord. It was just me and the box fan to pull him through the crisis.

Three hours and two trips to the hardware store later, the new faucet was installed.

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” he said.

Words could not describe my happiness, but I decided in my best interest to just keep the sarcastic remarks to a minimum.

Like Grandma always says, “Don’t cut off your nose just to spite our face” which I translate to mean “next week your stool runneth over.”



Carol Stark is editor of The Joplin Globe. Address correspondence to her, c/o The Joplin Globe, P.O. Box 7, Joplin, Mo. 64802 or e-mail cstark@joplinglobe.com.