Tonight around the dinner table said Dad that everything he eats tastes like mayonnaise.

I was thinking about how I was gonna write it down and this way seems as good as any other.

I'm in my room trying to get this shit down right in my notebook even though I'm sweating like a maniac. I'm sitting on my bed in what they called indian style in kindergarten and I swear I can feel these wool sheets giving off heat under me. Laying on the floor was a little bit cooler but it hurt my neck to keep my head in a good writing position and I rubbed my elbows raw on the carpet while writing. Plus I couldn't hear my record player on the other side of the room and that old thing is really hard to move. It's getting hard to try and scribble around the sweat drops that I keep leaving on the page. But if you didn't do things because they were hard you'd wind up not doing anything.

It's been a brutal summer so far and it's not even really summer yet since we still have a few days to go before it becomes official as if that meant anything except where the sun really is. Does it matter where the sun really is if it feels like it's on top of you?

Dad got home at 5 on the dot today which is pretty early for him. It depends on the job he's working on but 6:30 is his usual get home time. He drives through jersey to get to the work site in the city instead of just going through brooklyn like everyone else in staten island. This probably adds a good half hour to his commute but he's got this beef against the verrazzano bridge.

Crazy brooklyn drivers Dad says.

As if that's a good enough reason and as if he didn't used to be a crazy brooklyn driver not too long ago.

His early arrival scared the hell outta me cuz I try to make sure I'm not high when he gets home and today he caught me off guard. After I had mowed the lawn I smoked the remnants of the shit Amara left with me last time she was here. I was sitting in the living room laying on the couch post-joint watching Bugs Bunny and trying not to think about how hot it was which was damn hard on that scratchy old couch. Suddenly the screen door swung wide open ahead of schedule and hit the inside of what Mom calls the foyer where we keep umbrellas and snow-wet shoes in the winter. Whenever I knock the door open that hard I get yelled at but Dad's allowed to do it. It's his door.

I almost fell right off the couch onto the floor and at the time I wasn't sure how well I would be able to get up again. I was freaking out cuz I was afraid he was gonna see my eyes and he was gonna know. Not only was he gonna know I'm high but he was gonna know the ten million other little things I try to hide from him. All the bad shit. I got ready for a shouting match and all the shit I was gonna say to him which is stupid since we've never had a shouting match in my entire life but still I had the whole scenario mapped out in my head in seconds. What he'll yell. What I'll yell. What Mom will say to try to calm us down. Every single word.

But Dad stomped into the living room looking too anxious to notice anything about me. His face was even redder than usual and he was flushed all the way up through his shiny bald scalp. He was covered in so much sweat left over from his work day that he squeaked when he walked. His arms rubbed against the edges of his orange pinney with yellow glow-in-the-dark stripes making this vague whistle sound you could just barely hear. I thought it mighta been his pants at first like corduroy or something but he was wearing what he calls his work pants. Old khakis with ripped cuffs and three different colors of paint splattered along the legs.

When I was little Dad's arms scared me. Sometimes he would hug me so hard I would start to cry cuz I was afraid I was gonna get crushed by his big steel monster robot arms. Cut it out ya big baby Dad would say.

You'll never guess what happened on my way to work today Dad said almost out of breath.

What? I said.

I hit a pig.

No you didn't.

Swear to god. I hit a pig.

Dad was heaving and wheezing like he had just been running. I almost laughed cuz I couldn't imagine Dad ever running to do anything.

How the hell did you hit a pig?

Here's what happened. I get off the goethals and I get on the turnpike. All of a sudden outta nowhere there's this pig standin there right in the middle of the damn highway! How it got there I dunno. Maybe it fell off the back of a farmer's pickup truck or somethin. There was nothing I could do. No time to swerve outta the way and the next thing I know BOOM! Pig is rolling off my windshield and over the roof and off to the shoulder. So I pull off at the next exit and go to a gas station to use the pay phone so's I can call the jersey troopers. I call em up I sez Listen I was just on the turnpike and I hit a pig so you should send someone to go pick it up. Animal control or whatever. You know they got guys to pick up cats that get hit by cars and stuff like that. They sez to me (and Dad puts on his low-pitched official asshole voice) You know it's a serious felony to hit livestock with a vehicle and leave the scene of the crime. Have you ever heard a this? I couldn't believe it! Here I'm thinkin I'm gonna wind up in the big house for hittin a pig. So I hang up the phone and get back in the car and just floor it cuz I'm already runnin late to work. So I'm drivin and drivin and I finally get to the work site at the bridge and whaddya know? There's three jersey trooper squad cars waitin for me!

Geez I said stopping short before I could add an us to it and get in trouble. How did they know where you were gonna be?

The pig squealed Dad said.

Immediately Dad burst into his huge laugh that makes you feel like the stupidest person on the face of the earth. Whenever I get embarrassed I feel like I'm shrinking inside. Like all my guts and organs are trying to pull away from the skin. Dad made me feel that way in record time. My face felt even hotter than it already was which didn't seem possible until it happened.

I can't believe it! Dad said still roaring like a jet engine. The genius fell for it! I'm glad I ain't sendin you to no private school cuz I'd want my money back!

Dad must have seen me look angry and embarrassed because he decided to apply his normal remedy to me being pissed which is hitting me in the shoulder as hard as he can.

C'mon! Dad said at the same time as his punch connected. I'm just jerkin yer chain. Lighten up a little will ya?

When Dad marched off down into the basement he was still laughing hysterically. His chortles echoed down there and up the stairs straight to my ears almost in unison with the pulses of pain in my shoulder. They kept together until his table saw started up and drowned him out.

Dad works with saws and hammers and nails all day but the second he gets home he goes off to the basement or the yard to do the same thing. He always finds something new to work on even though nothing in the house is broken or old. It must be one of those Man things you won't understand until you have back hair.

Dad washed his hands before sitting down to dinner but not enough and his arm hair was still gunked up with mud and dust and grease from the work site. His fingernails were filthy as usual. I don't think he even bothers trying to clean them any more cuz they're a lost cause. There's always some crack in him full of dirt and junk.

Mom used the plates that match the green formica table tonight. They were almost glowing in the light from the globe shaped lamp that dangled over our heads.

You gotta be careful not to put your arms on the edge of the table cuz the metal rim is bent in weird places and if someone across from you shifts their weight you can wind up getting pinched pretty bad.

Hot one today Mom said.

Glad we was workin under the bridge this afternoon Dad said. I went out to get some coffee for the guys and I tell ya I haven't felt heat like that since the war. Like they took the japanese sun and dumped it on top of the hudson.

Dad was playing with his lasagna like a little kid picking it up on his fork and staring at it for a while before letting the noodles plop back on his plate. His off-white undershirt was splattered with orange spots from where the tomato sauce had splashed up. Some of the spots had gotten as far away as the parts of his upper arms that managed to squeeze out of the sleeves of his shirt. Looking at his face I couldn't tell whether he didn't notice the little orange dots or didn't care.

Could you take care of some more of that food? Mom said to Dad. It's bad enough I gotta cook in this kinda weather. The least you can do is eat it.

Why should I bother? Dad said. It all tastes like mayonnaise anyway.

Mom gave Dad one of her cut it out looks.

Let's not talk about this right now okay? Mom said.

I snickered to myself cuz it sounded so ridiculous. It wasn't too ridiculous that everything you eat would taste the same. One time I had this really bad cold and I couldn't taste nothing no matter what I ate. And lately it's been so damn hot that everything I eat tastes salty like sweat. But mayonnaise was just plain stupid. So I laughed and almost snorted up some lasagna.

Big mistake. Dad fixed me with a death stare squinting with his little coal lump eyes at me.

You think it's funny smart guy? Dad yelled.

Well yeah I said late with stifling my chortle. You're kidding right?

No I ain't kidding. Why would I kid?

Cuz you're always kidding.

Whaddya mean I'm always kidding?

Like that joke you told before.

Dad laughed out loud remembering how he had got me.

Hook and line and sinker buddy Dad said and stuck his finger in his mouth to simulate a fish hook.

My face turned red again remembering how Dad had gotten me the first time.

C'mon that was a good one! Dad said to me. The only reason you ain't laughin is cuz I got ya. Don't get all bent outta shape. I'm just jokin.

Just like you're always jokin about that dodgers game.

Dad rolled his eyes and kept laughing.

Steel trap Dad said. You don't let nothin go. I keep tellin you that you weren't there and you don't listen to me.

If I wasn't there how come I remember it so well?

You got your head so screwed up that you think you remember it. You don't remember it for real. Why would I bring you to a dodgers game? You were two years old! And even if I did why would I get my picture taken with Jackie Robinson and not put you in the picture?

I don't know. That's what I wanna find out.

You Mom said (pointing her fork at me). Enough with that Jackie Robinson nonsense already. And you (switching the fork to Dad). Stop trying to distract me and eat up.

What am I? Six years old?

I got enough trouble getting him to eat without you setting a bad example Mom said pointing her fork to back at me but not turning to face me like I wasn't even in the room.

I paid for that food Dad said starting to growl a little bit. I bust my ass all day so you can buy that food. If I don't wanna eat it I don't wanna eat it. That okay with you?

Mom and Dad were locked in game of gaze chicken. Who's gonna look away first? I hoped they would keep it up for a while and get Mom off my case about eating any more food. Whenever I eat in this weather her dinners sit in my stomach all night and I get hotter and hotter just trying to digest them.

The construction workers of America targets or criticism because of their sometimes violent defense of the Nixon administration's policy in Indochina, received the gratitude of men fighting in Vietnam yesterday.

Peter Brennen, President of the New York Building and Construction Trade Council, who led a massive demonstration by 50,000 hard hats at City Hall last month, received a special commendation through the mail from the men of the Recon Company, 5th Special Forces Group, Airborne, headquartered in Naj Trang, Vietnam.

A LIFE IN MORALE

The commendation included a plaque, commemorating the hard hats' demonstrations, and the symbol of the Special Forces--a green beret.

In an accompanying letter, written by Sgt. William Deacy, the construction workers were praised for "enormously lifting the morale of men serving in the United States armed forces."

The inscription on the plaque read:

"We wish to express our deep appreciation and administration to the construction workers of America and all who respect our nation's flag and who support its fighting men and the government's decision in its struggle for a better world."

Brennen said that he considered the commendation "a great honor for all the men in the contsruction trades and a great honor for all Americans to have such dedicated men as the Green Berets in the service of our country."

[Copyright Michael Manrahan for the New York Daily News, June 17, 1970]

Let's not get into this in front of Him okay? Mom said. Can we do that for once?

When I'm not included or I'm in trouble I'm Him. Sometimes Mom yells Frank Declan Oibrai get over here this instant. The full name means deep shit. Mom never does the full name with Dad but sometimes she'll be in the kitchen and scream Frank gimme a hand in here and we'll both go in there and then she'll get mad at whichever one of us she didn't want around.

Jimmy's name was That Boy. As in That Boy better get his act together if he knows what's good for him.

Dad let out one of his little gruntchuckles. It's this mix between a short laugh and a snort. He does it whenever he thinks what you just said is stupid but he feels like it's barely worth responding to. Like it should be obvious that what you just said was ridiculous. He stared down at his pasta again and that was the end of that. It was weird that Mom said that since I can't think of anything they do get into in front of me.

What's with this whole mayonnaise thing? I asked Dad.

Okay Dad said not changing his expression at all. I got bit by a bug on my tongue.

Bit by a bug? I said. A bug bit you on the tongue and now all you taste is mayonnaise?

Oh yeah. It's a special kinda breed of mosquito that only lives in new dorp.

What's it called? I asked.

Then Dad started laughing hysterically.

I can't believe it! Dad said. Twice in one night! You slippin or what einstein?

While still chuckling to himself Dad grabbed his plate and swung it in a slow arc from me to Mom.

Either of you guys want this? Dad asked. I'm done.

Mom stayed quiet. I didn't answer him. Dad got up and tilted the plate over the garbage can so the lasagna slid slowly off of it on top of the coffee grinds and banana peels from breakfast. His plate slid into the sink full of soapy gray water and clanked against the other dirty things. Then he opened the fridge so he could crack open a rheingold to go with the news.

I waited until Dad was in the living room and Walter Cronkite was mumbling Still no end in sight. Mom stomped over the sink to start the dishes. Since Dad was outta the kitchen it was safe for her to reach for the pall malls so she did.

So what's goin on with Dad and the mayonnaise? I asked Mom.

That's enough with that Mom said yanking a sudsy hand out of the dishwater to hold it up as a stop sign. I don't want you askin him no questions about it.

Why not?

Cuz I'm askin you nice okay? Can you do this one thing for me? I didn't even want him sayin nothin to you about it because I know you'd pull this crap. Your father's got enough to worry about already without this too.

Mom gave me an extra hard between you and me gaze and lowered her voice a couple hundred decibels. She does this thing a lot where she'll suddenly get all secretive like she wants to spill some beans to me but she's afraid to.

You know he used to eat mayonnaise all the time Mom said near-whispering like this was some sorta state secret.

Really I said but there was no question mark at the end of it because this wasn't a huge revelation. Maybe it shoulda been in light of whatever it is he's got now but I can't say I've ever really noticed what Dad eats. Usually it's one big first helping and then a small second helping and off to the TV with a rheingold.

Yeah Mom said. Used to make mayonnaise sandwiches all the time.

What's a mayonnaise sandwich?

Two pieces of bread with mayo in between.

I made a disgusted face.

Mom stamped out her cigarette with a harsh crunch in the glass ashtray. She shook her hands dry and sent suds in my face so she could light up another one as quickly as possible.

I know right? Mom said looking just as disgusted as I must have. That's how I reacted. And your grandfather used to go nuts. You know how he is. Whaddya doin that for! he'd scream at your father. Disgusting habit! That was before he was crazy but he was still crazy back then.

Is he gonna go to a doctor or what?

Whaddya nuts? Mom said getting her regular yelling voice back and splashing suds from the sink in my face. They'd throw him in the booby hatch for sure. And what would the neighbors think? No way. It'll work itself out.

Mom says that a lot. This too shall pass. I can never remember if that's from the bible or a movie.

Maybe he might feel better if he talked about it I said.

Whaddya mean? Mom said. He's sick. Would you get rid of a cold by talkin about it?

I'm just sayin is all.

Yeah well just keep your mouth shut for once okay? Don't be askin your father any nosy questions. None of that irish blarney or whatever they call it. Always asking questions. Always gotta be talking. Poets and dreamers. What did they ever make for the world? Books and whiskey.

Mom is german and Dad is irish so she always gets into these useless arguments with Dad about who has the better nationality.

Beethoven Mom will say.

William Shea Dad will say.

William Shea?

The guy who brought the mets to new york.

And an argument will rage on about whether William Shea is in the same category of great man as Beethoven.

You gotta promise me you're gonna keep quiet Mom said clanking the dishes with the sound all spacey and gooey filtered through a sink full of water.

Okay Ma.

Don't just say that Mom said and she turned to me and grabbed my face with a wet sudsy hand lining my cheeks with soap bubbles. Don't say one thing to me and then do something else. I'm not goin through this with you too. Not another one. You hear me?

Okay Ma I said and worked my face out of her wet grip.

This too shall pass Mom said absently not to me or herself or anyone else really except the air around her.

She says that a lot. This too shall pass. I can never remember if that's from the bible or a movie.