My father Swept the Floor

     There is no doubt the job of housekeeping is the most under-appreciated job in the universe.

    One Sunday my father accused my mother of being the worst housekeeper in the world. Besides keeping house, my mother did all the cooking -- home-made biscuits at least once a day. Taking care of two usually uncooperative children. Laundry with an antique wringer-washer. All this in addition to running the fourth-class postoffice which stood in a corner of our front yard.

    My father made quite a show of getting the broom and dustpan. Lectured as he swept the bare floor of the living room and adjacent dining room. "This is how you keep a tidy house."

    He was home from his work -- admittedly hard manual labor -- early on Wednesday. Impatiently waiting for his evening meal, he sank into the chair next to the radio -- this was well before television, Looking across the floor he was astonished to see dust mice frolicking across the wood floor. He stared, his vision affixed.

    "But," he finally muttered to himself, "I swept that floor on Sunday . . . "