The Art of Housepainting

Some of my earliest memories include watching the hands of my father as he painted around the house.  Occasionally he would explain some things to me, but mostly he was happy that I was watching what he did - and I still remember all that he taught me. My father was a very good painter.  I've watched "professionals" slap paint on with a brush, and roll or spray large sections, looking completely bored through it all.  Not so with my father.  He almost always used a brush.  If he was painting the dining room, it was a good time to "get to know the walls and trim".  Every square inch was personally inspected by him, every centimeter got his attention, as he worked.  Sometimes he'd find a nail hole from a picture we used to have hanging, that he forgot about, and would take the time to fill it, before painting over it.  Maybe there was a paint chip that came off; he would sand over it so that little spot would look good again.  He taught me not to just put paint on something, but to really "work the paint in".  I've found that I go through more paint than others, and my job always last longer.  Painting wasn't a chore, it was something that he enjoyed - he took pride in his work.  Usually, he would use a round brush - not a flat brush - round.  Their official name is an oval sash brush.  These brushes held lots of paint, and were very versatile.  Of course, this was back when paint brushes were not throw-aways (and weren't made with a sponge).  After you painted, you'd get the turpentine, or the paint thinner, or maybe even some gasoline if you had nothing else, clean the brush, possibly even soak it for a few days to get most of the paint off, then wrap it in a paper towel so that it could slowly dry and be supple and soft for the next job, even if that was a few years later.  When he had really big jobs, like one summer when he was on strike from Westinghouse and got the job painting the inside of an entire elementary school (Pusey Avenue School), of course he used a roller - there was no other way to cover that much area in a reasonable amount of time.  But you'd frequently see him going over parts of the wall with a brush, once he finished with the roller, just smoothing spots out, making sure it was all up to his standards. 

Whenever I paint, it gives me a moment with my Dad again.  Light and heavy strokes, dabs, twists of the brush, I watched him work, learned his tricks, and learned how to paint just like him.  This was also a time when people didn't tape off a room before they started painting.  He didn't need tape on the trim when painting the wall, he would paint the wall without getting paint on the trim! People trivialize the process - you got a brush, you got the paint, there you go.  But there were people who painted to create something of quality, that would last, in an act that was satisfying, relaxing and enjoyable.  Quality of workmanship - sometimes it seems like a lost concept.  I never appreciated it at the time.  Kids are like that.

© 2012 John Allison

Allison Family Meetings

I was an only child.  It was easy for my parents to talk with me whenever they wanted, but we would occasionally have "official" family meetings around the dining room table.  Every Fall we would have a snow meeting.  We would get the wooden bobble-headed fat-man savings bank off the dining room window sill (right above the radiator).  He would be the fourth member of the meeting.  We would each put a dollar into him.  This was a lot of money, but we were big time gamblers.  On each dollar, we would write our prediction for when Philadelphia would get its first snowfall (which we looked forward to).  I always picked my birthday, November 14, my mother would pick her birthday, December 13, and my father, a "summer baby", would usually pick my grandmother's birthday, December 14, or Christmas.  For those three days, we constantly watched the skies, hoping that any of the three of us would win.  If no snow fell by the end of the year, the contents would remain and be added to the winnings for the next Fall.

I recall two very important family meetings that we had when I was young (and many others, which I had to call, as my parents aged).  My mother became infatuated by the commercials on TV, and magazine ads for COOL cigarettes.  Those who smoked them apparently really enjoyed them, and had wonderful lives, although we had no idea what enjoying a cigarette meant, since neither of my parents smoked.  Dad and I were surprised when Mom called a meeting and set a saucer and an unopened pack of Cools on the table, along with a book of matches.  I couldn't imagine her actually buying cigarettes!  I was 10 at the time and it was 1961.  To our surprise, Mom invited Dad and I to join her in discovering the joys of smoking Cools.  We were each dealt our own cigarette, which we awkwardly lit up.  Just like on TV, we tried to look casual and wealthy as we inhaled, prepared to exhale that relaxing smoke.  We coughed, we choked, we ran for glasses of water; we almost died.  None of us ever touched a cigarette again.  (If you want to make sure your kids or grandkids never smoke, I highly recommend this approach.)

I also very much remember a family meeting that we had after my third 5th grade report card came out (1962).  My mother brought it to the table.  My father brought our family dictionary.  My teacher had used a word that none of us has ever heard before.  My mother first read Mrs. Miller's comment.  "John is a bit flippant."  I suggested that it meant well groomed.  My father looked it up, and read the definition to us all.  Apparently my definition was incorrect.  A substantial discussion followed.  Looking back at my old report cards, I'm reminded that prior to that meeting, my mother always signed them.  (They always had to be signed and returned.)  After that meeting, my father always signed, and always wrote a note back to the teachers, adding up to quite a continued dialog in those years that followed.  While I may not have been the best student academically from that point on, I definitely took it more seriously, and treated the teachers with the respect they deserved.  They did, after all, have the ultimate power - their short notes could lead to family meetings, and I didn't want to be looking up any other new words around the dining room table ever again.

© 2012 John Allison