Frank, uncharacteristic

I think I've mentioned once or twice before how placid a man Frank was. In fact I only ever remember him exercising his right as a parent to smack me exactly once.

I'd somehow got it in my mind to drop a handful of dirt from the backyard into our old above ground pool and pretend I was on The Curiosity Show by sticking the garden hose down to the bottom and whooshing the dirt around everywhere. I don't even remember if he yelled (he never did) when he found me doing it, I just remember how shocked I was that he'd smack me.

I don't remember him even being in the picture when I jumped up and down on the roof of the Capella, threw pegs in the toilet, tore newspapers up all over the lounge room of my aunty and uncle's house or wrote 'Drew i am' on my class photo from about third class – it was Mum's wrath I faced in all those transgressions.

But it's also entirely possible he couldn't have cared less. In sullying the pool – and this would have applied to anything outside – I think I was was encroaching on his domain, and he was having none of it.