I have a surprise for you, Jimbo. My father, the inventor and plaid, stood in the middle

of the living room with a blocky object hidden beneath a bed sheet. It was the spring

of 1981. My mother and me had just come back from the park.

What is it, I asked?

Guess? His hands tightened over the cloth. Whatever the surprise was, he was excited to reveal

it.

A gentle were and a beep came from beneath a bed sheet. A skeptical smile spread across

my mother's face.

Brian, he didn't build a-a-a, don't spoil it. He got off. Let him guess. Come on, Jimbo.

What do you think the surprise is?

The mysterious objects let out a series of beeps. Wait, shift has been beneath a bed sheet.

I didn't have a faintest idea of what it could be, but I also knew my father well enough

to know he wouldn't move on unless I met a guest.

A washing machine? I guess.

They both laughed.

Over the following years, my guests were becaved into family history through funny dinner

party anecdotes.

It's not a washing machine, Jimbo. My father finally said, it's something much better

than a washing machine.

You didn't actually build it, did you? My mother asked and amused this belief.

Hun, if you didn't want a husband who builds things, you shouldn't have married an

inventor. He said with pride in his voice and then turned to me.

...